“I’m staying. Period.”
Barnaby held his finger flame near his face, his mouth tightened in a serious line. “You are more than welcome to stay, Miss Paige. But you will be the only human in the vicinity, and even your relationship with Koltz may not be enough to protect you.”
“I can take care of myself. Once I get my crossbow back, of course.”
Barnaby reached behind his back with his free hand, then held the crossbow out before him. Ruby snatched it up and tucked it into the waistband of her sweatpants.
Something Barnaby had said nagged at Brian. If Ruby would be the only remaining human, then who was the elderly gentleman who’d helped them earlier? Not daring to question Barnaby, he kept the thought to himself. Perhaps Barnaby was hiding it for a good reason.
Or perhaps the man hadn’t been human at all.
He sighed. “Let’s do this, then.”
Barnaby whisked away into the dark, the finger flame bobbing to and fro as they made their way through the labyrinth of crisscrossing hidden passageways. Brian knew where they were heading until Barnaby deviated from the only path he’d traversed thus far. From there, too many left and right turns led Brian’s orientation astray. They inclined at one point, then went up several flights of stairs. By the time they finally reached a dead end, Brian was breathing raggedly. He wiped sweat from his brow as Barnaby pushed a blue-tinted stone that gained access to another room.
Except it wasn’t a room but rather a great gallery of statues and tapestries. A large brass door loomed to their right, beautifully adorned with unrecognizable shapes and symbols. Statues lined each side of the gallery, and tapestries similar to the ones in their sleeping chamber hung on the wall between them at fixed intervals.
Barnaby flicked his finger to extinguish his mysterious flame and proceeded to their left, toward a large black door with a giant letter B imprinted in the center of it. “What you are about to witness may be shocking, but it is part of the ritual.”
“Don’t you just bite and the virus does the work from there?” Ruby asked.
“Virus?”
“The URC has determined that the gene which contains vampirism is a virus.”
Barnaby chuckled. “It is oh-so-much more, Miss Paige. Under normal circumstances, yes, we simply bite and allow our splendid ‘virus’ to do the work. For Koltz, I make an exception.” He pulled on a golden rung and held the door ajar. “He is about to be blessed with powers few others have ever known.”
Brian stared at the floor, mind whirling. This was it. He was about to become the type of creature he’d dissected and experimented on for the past seven years. All of his work couldn’t prepare him for the wave of nausea that rolled through his body. “Is it true I’ll absorb some of your memories?”
“That is fiction. There will be no memories of mine invading your own, no psychic connection.”
“Will I be able to walk in light and avoid flames, and do your snazzy little finger flame?”
“Immunity to fire is inherent in most vampires. But the others, I do not know. The transformation can bring about undeterminable results.” Barnaby pulled the door open wide and led the way into the room.
Brian reached back for Ruby’s hand, but she didn’t clasp his in return. He looked back. She averted her gaze, acting as though she hadn’t seen the gesture, as if preoccupied with the scenery. The doors slammed shut behind them.
If things were already turning sour with Ruby, what would his transformation do to his relationship with Keith, General Cannopolis, Strajowskie? Would he be embraced when he returned as a vampire seeking an ultimate solution of peace, or would he be shunned by humanity overall?
Was this worth losing that?
He shook the thoughts away. It was settled. In order to accomplish his goals, he had to do what was best. For his future, for the future of vampires and humanity, and, most importantly, for the future of the known world.
The room was more majestic than the gallery. The floor was marble, with four small granite squares arranged in the center to form a larger square. Atop the granite was an elegant statue of a naked woman, with fangs jutting above a hollow, open maw just below her upper lip. Her eyes were empty, hollow sockets. Her arms were raised, face tilted to the heavens in a silent mock scream. Perky stone breasts jutted out above a defined, muscular stomach. The hair on the statue flowed down to her buttocks, winding between her legs and leaving only one thing to imagination. The detail was perfect. Almost as if she were real, encased in stone.
The walls and ceiling were lined with red satin which flowed and rustled even in the absence of moving air. With the ceiling at least forty feet high, it gave the impression of being inside a giant box comprised of flowing blood. Extravagant candelabras rested on stone shelves in sporadic intervals along the walls, and red candles dripped wax into black bowls beneath them. A hint of sulfur lurked in the air.
Two semi-circle steps ran the width of the room about three quarters down, leading to a dais. Atop the dais sat a throne unlike anything Brian had ever seen: A seat made of bone. Though it churned his stomach to think how it had been created, he was awestruck. Behind the dais was another raised section of the room, where red and black curtains intertwined atop a canopy, draping over a plush, high bed. The headboard, like the throne, was made of bone. Wicked flames swayed inside skulls resting on top of the two headboard posts. Wax ran through the cracks in the skulls’ teeth like blood.
Brian and Ruby whirled about, mouths agape. Though it was disturbing, it was fitting and gothic, the type of room one would expect of a vampire, particularly the leader. Except for the bed.
“I am certain you are glancing about to locate the coffin, no?”
Brian shivered. Although Barnaby insisted telepathy wasn’t a power vampires possessed, he found it hard to believe millennia spent in the midst of humankind could alone make someone so keen to human emotion.
“We, like you humans, prefer something comfortable,” Barnaby stated. “Does that really surprise you so much?”
Ruby shook her head. “You guys are so much different than I expected, I’ll give you that.”
“There is far more you do not and may never know, Miss Paige. But I still thank you for your compliment.”
She snorted and opened her mouth to speak when the doors behind them banged open. Shrouded figures entered, bearing jeweled goblets and ruby pendants and jars containing unknown substances. The final one entered, carrying a chain with a small basin dangling at the bottom. Smoke poured from the basin, choking the air with a putrid yet pleasant scent.
Ruby’s eyes darted. Her hand rested on the handle of the crossbow concealed beneath her sweatshirt.
Barnaby stepped to her and touched her shoulder. “You may be at ease. I believe I discovered the culprit. He has been dealt with.”
Her hand remained atop the crossbow.
“The incense bearer will be your new escort and liaison. He is my librarian, and, coincidentally, the resident historian.” He winked at Brian. “Some say he is older than me.”
Brian wiped his hands on his sweatpants as the incense-bearing figure approached. The priest threw back his cowl. Power emanated from him. It enveloped Brian and rolled over him like a freight train, unyielding yet comforting, unlike when he’d first met Barnaby.
Droopy bags of skin accented deep, penetrating black eyes. His bald head glinted. He held out his hand and squeezed hard. “Father Stephenson.”
“Brian Koltz.”
Father Stephenson smiled. The skin on his face crinkled like a paper bag. “I’ve heard much about you, Brian. Barnaby has spared no expense in praising your scientific knowledge and abilities. I’m pleased that you seek a long-term solution to the madness which has entrenched the world in a pit of hatred and war.”
Brian flushed. Barnaby was bragging about him? He found it hard to believe, considering they’d only known each other for several days.
Ruby stepped in front of Brian, eyeing the old vampire. “Fath
er? As in priest? Of what, pray tell?”
“A priest can be one of healing, one of faith, one who serves the earth. And to all, their official title can be ‘Father’ if they so choose.”
“Isn’t that hypocrisy, considering you drink blood?”
Father Stephenson shook his head and wagged a finger. “I was a priest long before I turned. I will not vacate my title, and I cannot forsake my faith.” He averted his gaze. “That is the order of my Lord.”
Before Ruby could retort, Father Stephenson turned away and stepped to the other shrouded figures. They then took up posts in a circle surrounding the granite section of the floor.
“What are they here for?” Brian asked.
“When turning someone, it saps a great deal of our strength, perhaps some of our soul, if you will,” Barnaby said. “They will provide me with power beyond what I possess.”
That’s why you’re the leader, the strongest. You’ve selfishly hoarded your powers, Brian thought, glad he hadn’t said it aloud. If he opened his mouth now and let something negative slip out, Barnaby could turn on him and kill him and it would all be over.
For everyone.
“Miss Paige, this might not be suitable for—”
“I’m staying.”
“Very well.”
Barnaby strolled to the outer edge of the circle of priests. Father Stephenson appeared beside him, and together they walked to the center of the granite squares. Father Stephenson whipped a plain black two-and-a-half-foot-long staff out from inside his robes. He gripped the center of it, hefted it above his head, and began to chant. The sounds weren’t a recognizable language but rather a guttural mixture of throaty sounds, like a prehistoric hymn.
The other priests joined in, raising their hands and grunting. Abruptly, the grunting stopped. Barnaby went down to one knee and placed his hands upon the granite slabs, eyes closed. Then Father Stephenson stooped, let go of the staff with one hand, and slammed the butt into the floor between Barnaby’s well-placed fingers.
The loud crack reverberated through the room. A strange black ball glowed in the palm of Barnaby’s hand, then disappeared. Suddenly, Barnaby and Father Stephenson were standing to either side of Brian.
“What the hell was that?”
Barnaby winked. “An illusion.”
Then the ground shook. Concrete scraped upon concrete, and Brian covered his ears. The four granite slabs lowered several inches and retracted beneath the floor. The female statue rose, revealing a circular concrete barrier surrounding it, engraved with vines and unfamiliar symbols. The statue was now the centerpiece of a ten-foot-diameter reservoir.
Barnaby disappeared and reappeared before the statue. He beckoned for Brian to enter. “Come, Koltz! Come bask in the glory and the power of that which you are to become!”
Brian’s mind screamed for him to stay put, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was frightened, yet eager to get it over and done with. His steps were leaden, as if the floor were steel and he had magnets attached to his feet. After several painstaking steps, he stood in front of Barnaby.
The Undead leader whispered, “You will feel a great deal of pain, and then, utter ecstasy.”
A chill rippled down Brian’s back. He glanced at Ruby, who peered at him, eyes rimmed with water.
I can’t go through with this.
He wheeled around to tell Barnaby he’d changed his mind. But before he could open his mouth to speak, Barnaby gripped him by his throat and dipped him backward until he was parallel to the floor. His eyes bulged as Barnaby’s cold breath pummeled his neck. He tried to gulp, but the knot of his Adam’s apple couldn’t break through Barnaby’s steel grip.
Barnaby breathed into his ear. “Now you die, Koltz, to be reborn in my image.”
No! Staring at the ceiling, Brian kicked out with both legs, trying to throw Barnaby off balance. Instead, Barnaby wrapped his free arm around both of Brian’s legs and kept him suspended. Then there was a sharp pang in his neck.
Fangs slid through his tissue, into the vein. He’d never been so conscious of his body before. Panic flooded through him. He thrashed, his ears buzzing, drowning out the high-pitched and quickening chanting from the priests. Barnaby buried his mouth against Brian’s neck. Wet sucking sounds and muffled moans of pleasure escaped the vampire.
First, a burning sensation crept from where the fangs were embedded and spread to Brian’s arms, his chest, down further to his groin, thighs, to his feet. Then the burning turned to ice-cold, painful throbbing as it worked its way back up to his face. The cycle repeated for what felt like hours.
Then there was calmness. The panic subsided, all thoughts washed away. A gray film covered his eyesight. His strength was sapped. The pain fled. He felt nothing, then, only a strange and comforting tranquility.
Barnaby released his legs. They fell, limp, to the floor. The vampire leader lowered him to the ground, then propped him up on his knees, still locked to his neck. Brian’s head dangled. He tried to raise it but couldn’t. The fangs retracted from his neck. Fingers clutched his hair and wrenched his head backward.
Barnaby reached with his free hand and pulled down on the statue’s right arm. Liquid sputtered from the statue’s eyes and mouth.
“Drink, Koltz.” The words were muffled. “Become one with us now.”
Brian giggled as the liquid pooled around his knees. It tickled.
Ruby screamed his name over and over, but he couldn’t respond. Not that he wanted to. His body tingled with pleasure; he’d never felt so good in his life. He recalled the time he and Keith had smoked marijuana in high school. The sensations then were nothing compared to the sensations wracking his body at the moment.
It was, as Barnaby promised, pure ecstasy.
Barnaby released his hair. Brian flopped into the fountain’s reservoir. The liquid flowed all around him, into his mouth and nose, into his ears. He kept his eyes open, taking great pleasure in the red-gray haze overtaking his vision.
The world drowned out around him. He sucked in the dark liquid and didn’t sputter. His lungs stopped pulling in air. His heart stopped beating. His sight darkened.
And then he died.
***
In the basement below, a priest leaned over John Ashmore’s battered, broken body, hands flitting over the old man. Creatures squirmed over John’s flesh. Rumbling sounds echoed throughout the lower chambers.
John’s eyes bulged. He bolted upright. Those sounds were coming from the Master’s chamber. The Master had already gorged himself that day, which meant only one other thing was happening. Something that had always been denied him but had been offered to that scientist.
The priest tried to hold him down, but John fought him off and stood. Maggots and leeches plopped on his feet.
He threw back his head and screamed.
Chapter 15
Keith stood outside the armory, waiting on Strajowskie. The president had called earlier that afternoon to demand the facility remain open. He’d flown to the battlefield to scope out the damage inflicted by the weapons the vampires had brought into the fray. Then he’d flown back to Arizona, tromped into the URC with his jaw set, ordered his bodyguards to wait in the cafeteria, and told Keith to accompany him to the training room.
Keith didn’t know what yet, but something was afoot.
He yawned. He’d holed himself up in his office for two days, preferring the cold loneliness of the URC facility over the comforts of his home. Several hours prior, he’d been on the verge of breaking the code to creating the platelet mushroom. He’d read all of Brian’s notes dozens of times, into the afternoon, pausing only to grab some coffee and a snack from a vending machine.
He had a new admiration for Brian and his intelligence. Brian had been correct all along: He needed a human body to complete the platelet. He needed a live human body. And Brian’s morals wouldn’t allow him to place the creation onto any human unwillingly. It had to be a volunteer. Brian was a brilliant man with high aspirations
and possibly the largest heart.
And it had taken his disappearance for Keith to finally understand that.
The exit door for the armory hissed open on hydraulic hinges. Out stepped Strajowskie, looking like a vigilante superhero from Keith’s childhood comic fandom days. He wore a leather neck-guard, a Kevlar vest, leather thigh-guards, and a helmet. A large automatic Ashmore crossbow was affixed to his back, with rounds of ammo strapped crisscrossed over his chest and shoulders. He held a miniature Ashmore in his right hand and a large machete in his left. Strajowskie slid the machete into a sheath on his left hip and slipped the mini into the waistband of his pants.
“A machete?”
Strajowskie lifted one corner of his mouth in a half-smile. “Hell, why not?”
“It might be damn near impossible to get close enough to wield it.”
“That’s never stopped me before.”
“Before?”
Strajowskie winked. “Let’s just say I led an excursion or two when this all started.”
Keith shook his head, awed. The more he learned about Strajowskie, the more he liked him. Keith was starting to see a real human behind the unbreakable façade.
They made their way to the control room. Inside, Strajowskie walked to the desk and flipped through the various disks as if he lived there, then handed one to Keith.
“Holograms only.”
Keith sat down in the desk chair and slid the CD out of its case and into the drive on the tower. The computer whirred to life and he set the program up, fingers flying over the keyboard.
“How many?”
“A dozen.”
Keith let out a long whistle. “You sure about that, boss?”
“If it gets too hot to handle, you can shut it down, right?”
“Yeah. And if the holograms deal what the program would consider a deathblow, it’ll shut down automatically too.”
“Well, I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure they don’t touch me at all.”
“You can wear a sensor on your ankle if you want. Just to keep track.”
The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions Page 11
