And they came as a biting, clawing, searing wave of filth and pain with red glowing eyes and razor-sharp fangs. They covered his legs and back, a writhing swarm of gnashing teeth, tearing at the soft flesh of his neck and eating away his ears, until the tide of them swept him off his feet.
But one seize of his elderly heart brought two familiar faces toward him. A large dark hand with the strength of a giant clasped his within a familiar palm. Asula brushed off his suit and Patrick lifted him under his arms, a sad smile gracing his face.
"Dead but not broken, the Covenant is still empowered and could be more dangerous to us than alive, Elizabeth. I applaud your work but remain skeptical about its effectiveness." Lilith hissed as she looked into the depths of the illusion beneath her fanged crest. She circled the black pentagram-shaped table in her chambers and glanced up at the Vampire Council. "Once the pale horse rides, never forget that the fifth biblical seal can be broken. That will allow the Light to bring back martyred souls to aid in their cause from the spiritual realm . . . hence why our Dark Lord was so furious that the Neterus' actions prematurely forced his hand." She waved toward the huge chamber doors. "The next time he comes back, unless we have phenomenal progress to report, I guarantee he will not be in such a good mood. Instead of bargains, there will be bodies—do I make myself clear?" Lucrezia stroked the armrest of Fallon's throne. "But Madame Chairwoman, the moment the fifth seal is broken, does not the match point revert to us? My poisons and plagues are making it impossible for the team to hide as it spreads across the land. No agricultural stock animal will be fit to eat. Nor fish. The adverse weather will blot out crops. Once the human stockpile diminishes, there will be war in the street for food."
"I have already risen the undead," Sebastian said with a sallow grin. "Those who succumb to Lucrezia's plagues reanimate and wake up with a hunger for human flesh . . . there will be more than war in the street. So let the Light open the fifth seal and call their martyrs. As soon as they do so, all we have to do is open the sixth seal, and it will be our turn."
Nuit's eyes met Lilith's as Vlad made a tent before his mouth with his hands, waiting.
Lilith nodded. "But it is not that simplistic. The sixth seal was hidden eons ago because it is our nuclear alternative, if we elect to employ it. It seems some angels playing dirty allowed it to be removed from the astral plane and after such treachery, we have been hunting it for millennia."
"You almost had it," Vlad murmured in Dananu, cutting a glare at Fallen Nuit.
"Residue of that time whispers in my throne. I'll share my impressions for a reinstatement of my position as head of the table, beneath you, of course, milady."
"Still green with envy from Fallon's subtle coup, eh, Count?" Lilith chuckled.
"Make it interesting; time is not on our side."
Vlad ignored the curious gazes from his competitors. "There were four masters who Carlos Rivera bested in the Outback, yes? This, of course, after he'd already bested Fallen." Vlad leaned forward as Lilith held a goblet of blood in midair. He gave a triumphant glance in Fallon Nuit's direction before returning his gaze to Lilith. "I believe all that occurred during the time Fallon was in repose in the Sea of Perpetual Agony . . . after having been fang-neutered by the inimitable Mr. Rivera." Vlad chuckled as Nuit issued a low, warning snarl. "You see, I, too, am a student of history, especially epic battles. Being so close to claiming the sixth seal is what nearly drove our former Chairman, Dante, insane. He was so dose." With a snap of her fingers Lilith created a dark globe in front of her throne and then blew on it to make it spin. A long graceful fingernail soon became a talon as it scored the crust of the earth, causing it to bleed where Rivera had been during his vampire incarnation. "Carlos was primarily in Sydney — not the Outback, to be exact — with that Neteru bitch of his. He spent a brief time at the late Master McGuire's castle, just off the sandstone cliffs overlooking the Great Barrier Reef. But where the real travesty occurred was on the high seas on McGuire's yacht and at the docks in Sydney — which is presumably why Sydney is already under Lucrezia's plagues and Elizabeth's chaos. What more do you suggest?" Vlad stood and swept away from his throne to meet Lilith by the globe. "Rivera bested Nuit, and then subsequently all four master vampires that confronted him and — "
"Yes, yes, I know! Dante revoked Rivera's freedom, bat-snatched him in a swirl of Harpies off the yacht, killed his first conceived child, and brought him here to these very chambers, where he ripped out Rivera's innards, then sent him into the sun. What more was there to do to the man? He was as good as exterminated, had the Light not cheated and called in the soul determination clause. Whatever."
"Your husband taught me something earlier — taught me not to overlook the details — and I respect his wise counsel." Vlad offered Lilith a charming bow and then took up her hand. "Follow Rivera's blood trail from the night he won the Master's Cup . . . from the castle, through the desert ... to the border of sunrise." Lilith pulled away from Vlad's hold and waved her hand dis-missively. "He was with the Neteru female—many a male vampire would have braved ash for a ripened—"
"No," Vlad said, cutting her off and catching her arm by the wrist. "He was to bring Dante the sixth seal and the woman. Love blotted out the female's whereabouts, and the Light blinded us to the seal's location . . . but the fact that Rivera saw it out there in that desert and left it out there for the love of a woman, for the love of humanity, registered as treason in his throne! Feel it! That is what drove Dante wild. It was a multiple offense against the empire."
Lilith yanked away from Vlad and quickly swept to his throne, caressing the armrests before she sat down. Her glowing black irises slowly widened as dark energy entered her body.
"Throne of darkness that nearly took residence in Rivera's spirit, speak to me," she murmured. Slowly she closed her eyes with a satisfied sigh and then opened them.
"We do not need an exact location," Elizabeth cooed in Dananu. "Just a general area."
Vlad nodded and held out a hand to his wife, who floated over to him to receive it.
"Let the full wrath of the fourth broken seal drive the beasts of the earth to ravage the ancient Aborigine population . . . then send the plagues. In death, they cannot keep up their dreamtime Light chants that blind us from the exact location. As the plagues take their toll, sooner or later we will find their hiding dens and will rout them out. All we needed to know was a general location of who had it, and from there we can apply pressure to the area until the humans in it cave and give up the seal."
"As with all things," Lilith said, standing slowly, choosing her words in Dananu with care. "You and your wife only win an elevation in power if your theory proves correct and you can defend it to Lu." She cast a withering gaze toward Sebastian, who simply hissed. "Isn't that correct, Sebastian? Being right isn't the full monte—you must have the balls to execute." Walking slowly, she gave Vlad a long, contemplative look and tapped her forefinger to her mouth. "That area is extremely dangerous. It is crisscrossed by twenty-thousand-year-old prayer lines and sacred didgeridoo sound lines, hence why we haven't returned. An educated guess is that once the keepers of the seal had been discovered, they would have moved it.... I just don't know. We have already expended a lot of resources, but you may have a point. Time will tell."
"Rather than playing long shots, why not allow a real artist to go to work?" Sebastian snarled in Dananu. "I can raise the Berserkers from all of the Nordic lands, as well as from the old Slavic empires and Germanic tribes, to search and destroy the planet for the seal." He turned to Vlad with an evil challenge in his smoldering eyes. "If my reanimated demons find the sixth seal first, I will claim lead councilman—and your fucking wife will lap dance me!" Nuit came between both snarling combatants, blocking Vlad's and Elizabeth's lunge at Sebastian with a cool smile. "You take the high road, Sebastian, by raising the Berserkers. Allow Vlad and Elizabeth to take the low road, namely ravaging the Aussies," Nuit offered in Dananu. "But until such time as either of you bri
ng in the goods, you will do things my way. Right now, I say we concentrate on locating the Neteru female who is carrying the Neteru child."
CHAPTER FOUR
“No matter what I tell you, do not let the team see it on your face. Then tell me what's wrong. Carlos's gaze was hard with worry as it raked her body, searching for anything that could have made her sick.
Everyone was looking at them, waiting for word that it was safe to move out. Damali stared at Carlos, her eyes imploring him not to tip the team off to the multiple tragedies she'd sensed. She waited till he nodded and then glanced around the desolate hallway inside the Cathedral of the Most Holy.
"It's safe here," she said quietly, glancing around. "Tourists haven't started arriving. Priests are probably in the sanctuary. Go two by two and slide into the pews, spread out like we didn't just jettison in here together. Keep your head low like you're praying until we can figure out how to approach our contact."
"Whaduya mean like we're praying?" Jose said, running his fingers through his hair. "At this point, D, that's all we're doing."
"You ain't said a word," Mike muttered, moving out first with Inez. Carlos gave the group a nod and he and Damali watched as each couple slowly fanned out, moving into the sanctuary quietly and then hiding their identities behind clasped hands.
"Talk to me," he said in a low, private murmur as soon as they were alone. Damali closed her eyes and then reached out to hold his face with both hands. "Oh, Carlos . . . Imam, Rabbi . . ." She shook her head and allowed the horrific images to flow from her mind into his.
"Jesus . . ." Carlos tore his gaze from Damali to look at the team that had spread out in the pews.
"Yeah," she said, opening her eyes. "They went after Ayana. Mom Delores almost didn't make it. The Weinsteins are trapped in the safe house tunnel system . . . Rabbi went down with the key to open the other end around his neck ... in the panic he wasn't thinking about all that. There's no time left to get them out. What are we gonna tell Dan?"
Sweating, nauseous, he pulled his wife behind him with one hand and held the heavy flashlight with the other, running. The sound of flesh being torn away from bone was far behind them, but the pants of their breaths and the smell of their humanity in the tight confines made him know it wouldn't be long before the ravenous hordes sought them out.
The door in sight was their only salvation and he kept his blurred vision trained on that. Frank Weinstein turned and caught his wife as she stumbled, grabbing her by her arm and her shirt to urge her forward. He couldn't expend energy on words. They had to move. He could hear the squeaking mass starting to move. Survival depended on staying ahead of the rats.
He reached the panic bar on the door, thrusting his body against it with all his might. But the heavy steel door didn't budge. His wife covered her head with her arms and released a wail of despair as she sank to the damp ground. He tried again, throwing his body against metal and concrete until he heard a rib crack. Then his fists bore out his frustration as he banged and yelled into the nothingness, the flashlight dropping to his feet to reveal what was headed toward them—a crawling river of plague-carrying death.
His wife's screams made him sob. If she had at least made it. If she weren't there. If he weren't impotent to protect her or his son! Why was God punishing his family?
As Frank gathered his wife into his arms, the couple huddled against the locked door. He put his body between her and the onslaught, hoping to buy her a few moments more while also praying that she'd have a heart attack before they ate out her eyes.
"Yo! Yo! Anybody down there?" a strong male voice bellowed into the abyss.
"Help us—the rats are coming!" A collective wail greeted the question as the Weinsteins began banging on the door with open palms.
"Get back from the door—we gotta blow it!"
The couple scampered backward, falling against the rocky surface as they monitored the oncoming, writhing threat.
A sudden blast deafened them as they covered their heads and bright lights and dust stung their eyes.
"Get those people outta there!" a loud voice yelled.
"Yo, Phat G—flamethrowers, man!" another voice hollered. Strong arms pulled the dazed couple from the tunnel.
"Go, go, go!"
Chaos surrounded the Weinsteins. People in military fatigues and weapons. Flamethrowers. Their ears rang, their vision was blurred. Their bodies were being pulled and shoved to safety. Sewer water sloshed in their shoes and the stench filled their noses and mouths. Gunfire report and the heat from flamethrowers gave them the strength to climb up an iron ladder. A strong soldier flipped open a street manhole and brandished a weapon. They watched as he quickly drew himself out and then turned around to pull them into the fresh air. Using a machine-gun barrel, the soldier motioned toward a covered military truck.
"Get in and get your head down."
There was no time for questions. If they'd been abducted by the government, it was still survival. The couple looked at each other and then complied, running toward the vehicle. Women in fatigues with hard eyes and toting weapons pulled them into the truck and gathered a tarp.
"Listen," a tall African-American woman with braids in her hair said. "We're the New York squad, all right. We got Monk Lin's SOS. We're friends of your son, and gonna get you somewhere safe."
"I'm Carmen, that's Adrienne with the braids, and Roshida— ex-cop and sure shot—and Chantay—from up south . . . South Carolina, who's gonna get us through the mountains," another shorter woman replied, handing the Weinsteins a bottle of water.
"Glad we got to you in time, was literally a monster getting up here from Harlem," the soldier pointed out, as Roshida said. Carmen nodded. "No lie. But we want you to know that we're not some terrorists kidnapping you—that's why we're giving you names. We don't want you afraid of us, all right? We lost a lotta good men trying to get to you to help you."
The couple looked up from where they sat on the truck floor, uncertain, eyes wide with terror, but nodded in agreement nonetheless.
Adrienne gave the other female Guardians a look. "They're gonna be all right. Just need time." . "Yeah," Carmen said quickly, and then looked at the Weinsteins, trying to get through to them. "Lisa was the little chick on the flamethrower that got the rats. Nyya was on your six keeping back demons in the sewer till we could get topside. Phat G blew the door, and my boys the Professor and Rene will be driving. If you haven't noticed, the world has gone crazy. Me, Phat G, and the rest of the squad got your backs. We've gotta go through a coupla military checkpoints and pass through like we're military—hiding in plain sight. That's why you've gotta go under the tarp. Don't panic, Mr. and Mrs. Weinstein . . . we're not gonna hurt you. We're trying to save your lives, cool?"
As the back flap of the truck opened, and more soldiers piled in, the diesel engine engaged, lurching the truck forward.
"All clear. Move out!" a bulky soldier with dreadlocks shouted. Carmen pounded on the truck frame and repeated the command. "Yo, Professor—Phat G said to move out!" She looked at the couple on the floor and handed them the tarp. "You all cool? You know what to do?" The Weinsteins looked around, dazed, and simply nodded, still shaken as they guzzled the offered water and then hid.
Cordell left the safe house in Georgetown, not caring what his fellow Guardians had to say. The darkside had killed his Dougie, his protege ... a young Guardian that was more like a son to him than anything in the world. What else could they do to him? Death would be an honorable conclusion. DC. had gone insane. Troops in jeeps, Humvees, and armored vehicles crisscrossed the city grid, sweeping the terrain with flamethrowers to exterminate rats, stray rabid dogs, anything that didn't seem normal. Tanks rolled down Sixteenth Street and guarded bridges. Black
Hawk helicopters nearly blotted out the sun. The occasional F-16 fighter jets soared in formation overhead.
He knew what the remaining team feared, that the authorities would see him walking down the street, dazed, and assume he was one of the wal
kers — and then torch him on sight. Maybe. Maybe not. Or he would take a single shot to the head by a military sniper, just for being considered a threat. Every soldier was on high alert. He was an old, out of shape black man ambling down the street as though the world hadn't changed. His teammates said he was crazy for insisting he go alone. He'd be gunned down, detained, or possibly attacked by the walkers, feral stray animals, or worse.
But that wouldn't stop him. He had work to do. A priest had come to him in a daydream, more like a vision. An older man with a shock of silver-gray hair and a Templar crest had shown him a series of carvings on a wall that moved when pressed hard. The hieroglyphs opened a facade that hid a secret room that had standing knights in armor with medallions on their chests. Each of the four medallions linked together to create a key that fit into a specific east wall brick. Turning the key gave way to what was behind the door— a long corridor that opened out to a wider room. There was a single bench table at the center of it. The walls were bare, just highly polished stone. Wall torches sputtered. Then he'd seen the stone floor that had prone statues of dead Templars in the four corners of the room. The one guarding the western cardinal point held a scroll in his hand. This was the map he was to find. He saw the engraved medallion on the stone statue and then looked at the key in his hand, fumbling to separate out the four medallions he held.
Setting the right one from the western armored knight into the carved stone replica of it and turning it made the wide slate floor tiles around the prone statue drop four inches. He looked closer and in the dusty space was a parchment roll. Cordell looked up, suddenly coming out of his medium's daze to find himself standing in front of the Scottish Rites Temple. How he'd gotten there he wasn't quite sure. That much didn't matter. The fact that he'd made it alive did. Maybe the reason the soldiers hadn't shot him, even though he was walking down Sixteenth Street, was because they viewed him as just an old man heading in the direction of Columbia Road and Harvard Street, an intersection that held All Souls Church, National Baptist Memorial Church, and the former Church of the Latter-day Saints that was now a Unitarian church. Perhaps there was some mercy in their hearts, no matter what their training dictated, and they'd let old folks that reminded them of their parents and grandparents go into a house of worship to lie down and die. He didn't know. Didn't care. He just scratched his balding head, wondering how the time had escaped him.
L A Banks - [Vampire Huntres Legend 12] Page 6
