Of Man and Monster

by Saje Williams

  "I agree.” He hesitated, then, “So, you think you could give me the magic too?"

  Took him long enough to get there, she thought. “A werewolf with magic?” She considered it. “It's possible. I've got to re-rig those spells first. I'd better get to it. See I'm not disturbed, will you?"

  "Yeah."

  She nodded and headed into the back of the house.

  * * * *

  The four vampires stood on the roof of the convenience store, observing in silence as two vehicles—one a Ford pickup, the other a battered Jeep Wrangler—pulled into the parking lot. Four teenagers, all armed with hunting rifles, squatted in the back of the truck. The Jeep carried only a single passenger along with the driver.

  They jumped out one by one. A moment later they heard the sound of breaking glass. Five minutes later the whole lot of them charged back out and clambered into their respective vehicles. Cory spotted only two cases of beer in the mix. Most of it actually looked like food. Stuff that'll cook well on a campfire.

  Made sense. If anyone had evaded the evil influence of his vampire rival, it would've been by escaping into the wilderness, not hanging around in town where she seemed to be gathering her strength.

  He recognized a couple of them right off, but anyone going to Redburn High would have. Of course, the last time he caught sight of these two they'd been arguing about whether or not to look for him. Fogarty and Taggart. They must've given up on looking for me, but spent enough time out there that they were able to notice what's going on in town without getting caught up in it.

  Having them out there would be a bonus. They'd have to connect with them, but that could wait until tomorrow night. For now they'd all fed and could survive another day without needing to kill something. Always a good thing. They could rest easily today with four mortals to watch over them. Yet another “good thing."

  Fifteen

  Tuesday morning.

  "Is she dead?"

  "She's covered in blood, but it looks like she's still breathing."

  "Damn. You know who this is, don't you?"

  "Uh-uh."

  "Cory Flynn's mom. She's a cop."

  "Looks like someone tried to kill her."

  "Ya think? C'mon. Let's get her in the truck and back to camp."

  * * * *

  She woke slowly, hovering amidst the smell of a campfire and burning bits of sausage and bacon crackling only a few yards away. She hurt. Every inch of her hurt. But, as she slowly opened her eyes—only nearly as difficult as lifting twin Volkswagens stitched to her eyelids—she heard the sound of running water and murmured voices not so far away.

  A teenage girl, thin and pale as a wraith, sat on a nearby log, watching her. She had a bucket of steaming water between her feet, a washcloth in one hand, and what looked like a Sig-Sauer 9mm shoved in the waistband of her jeans.

  "How're you feeling?” the girl asked softly.

  "Like I've been repeatedly kicked by a Clydesdale. Where am I?"

  "Eagle Rock,” she answered. “Hey, guys! She's awake."

  A couple moments later two teenage boys came over to stand over her, both looking far more concerned than she might have imagined. She vaguely recognized one, but the other one was Vince Taggart, Redburn High's most notorious drug dealer. Not notorious enough to get caught at it, though there wasn't a cop in town who didn't know he was dealing. He was a sturdy young man with shoulder-length black hair and features that hinted of some Native American ancestry. Which tribe was anyone's guess.

  Just pot, as far as they could tell, but that was bad enough. She struggled to sit up. Of course, compared to the army of bloodsucking vampires running the show now, a little pot dealing seems less and less important.

  A matter of priorities, she told herself with a mental laugh.

  "I wouldn't do that,” the wraith-like girl told her, laying a hand on her shoulder and keeping her from rising. “I've been cleaning your wound. You were really very lucky. Someone shot you but the bullet mashed itself against your breastbone."

  Rachel realized at that moment that she was naked from the waist up, a blanket drawn over her for modesty's sake. Sitting up would've ended up flashing the two guys. Not exactly the first impression she would've wanted to make. “Oh, crap. Thanks."

  "No problem. I'm Teal, by the way. I've been keeping an eye on you since they brought you in. They found you floating in the river. It's amazing you're even alive."

  "Just lucky, I guess. You have my shirt hanging around here somewhere?” Part of her didn't want to leave the warmth of the blanket, even this close to the campfire. The air was the chill of early morning in late spring.

  "Yeah, but Doc's going to want to have a look at you before you get up."

  "Doc?"

  "He's been helping us get organized,” Taggart said suddenly. “He'll be back in a few minutes. He's downstream gathering wood for the fire."

  "I still want my shirt,” Rachel growled.

  "Sure,” Teal said. “Jim?"

  The other boy drifted away, came back a few moments later with a shirt and her Glock, which he handed to her. Now she recognized the kid. Jim Fogarty—the varsity quarterback. His family were redneck farmers who'd been here since the first land grants back in the late 1800's. A good kid, by all reports.

  "Well—I see our patient has finally regained consciousness."

  She knew that voice. She shifted around, pulling the blanket close, and watched as Gavin Chase picked his way along the rocky beach. “Shit. I should've known."

  He shrugged. “I ran across them completely by accident. I'm lucky they didn't shoot me on sight, but I guess things hadn't gotten that desperate yet. Other than myself you're the first adult they've seen who wasn't part of Veronica's little army."

  She pulled the shirt under the blanket, and, with a lot of groaning and wincing, managed to struggle into it. She left the Glock lying next to her, within easy reach, as she eyed him suspiciously and pushed herself into a sitting position. She hurriedly buttoned up her shirt, denying them all more than a brief glimpse of the white flesh of her breasts. “I need to get to Cory, let him know—"

  "Not going to happen,” Chase interrupted. “Be a bad idea. They're being watched, of course, and it's only a matter of time before they're attacked. It'll be during daylight hours, conducted by her willing servants."

  "Like Binks,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “That bastard tried to kill me."

  "Probably thinks he succeeded,” Chase said, nodding. “And it's probably better for all concerned that he continues to think so. By all rights you shouldn't have survived. I have my suspicions as to why you did."

  She stared into his face, trying to find some clue about what he was talking about. It might as well been hewn from granite for all it gave up. “So what can you tell me?"

  "I think you were given the para-virus.” He held up his hand before she could say anything. “It wouldn't show up on any tests—most people don't even know about it. The para-virus is a lot more secretive than the meta-viruses. It disguises itself as something else. Over the next several days you'll figure out what it's done for you. You'll be stronger, faster, and tougher. That's par for the course."

  She digested this. “I suppose I can live with that."

  "Yeah. I figured you might.” He sighed. “Taggart and Fogarty think they've figured out where she's recruiting all these people—or, at least—where she gained access to them in the first place. You know that church out on Rimrock, down the road from the High School?"

  She nodded. “What about it?"

  "That's her base. She came in as a ‘visiting minister’ of all things. She gave a couple of sermons, I guess, her main goal to extend her hypnotic powers over the congregation. She had them bring more people with them every night until she had a good group of them together, then she just had them drag even the unwilling down to be indoctrinated."

  "I thought you said she was religious—that it would bar her from entering holy ground."

&
nbsp; "Yeah. That's what I thought. Looks like I was wrong."

  She didn't trust him. With good reason. She had the nagging impression he'd lied to her more than she knew, that he carried within him a secret agenda he'd so far managed to hide. She couldn't believe he was out here “roughing it” with this group of refugee teenagers for their own good. “Looks like you were. So if I can't go see Cory and the others, what would you have me do?"

  "I can't spend all my time babysitting this bunch. They've done pretty well for themselves so far, but when push comes to shove they're not going to be able to fight very effectively. Too many of her conscripted troops are their parents, or people they've known for years. I can't—we can't—risk them trying anything stupidly heroic and getting themselves killed, or worse."

  "Never a sociopath around when you need one,” she muttered. “Say I agree to hang out here with them. What are you going to be doing?"

  He shook a finger at her. “You're just going to have to trust me, Detective Flynn."

  "Huh. I must have missed the news broadcast. When, exactly, did hell freeze over?"

  He seemed fairly amused by this, but didn't attempt an answer. “They've been conducting fairly successful raids into town every night. You might guess that the daylight hours would be safer, but she seems to be pulling most of her army out to the mines at night. During the day the town almost looks normal, if you can ignore the mostly-vacant stares on the faces of the people as they go about their business.

  "They're starting to get antsy though. Jim and Vince—who more or less seem to be running the show—reluctantly let me convince them that they don't have the resources or the training to go up against her. She's smart. Surrounds herself with her vampire lackeys and a host of human puppets anytime she leaves the mines."

  "That's the second time you've mentioned ‘mines.’ What the hell is she after?"

  "Not sure. She's got most of the population out digging in a cave system about five miles outside of town. What they're after I couldn't begin to guess."

  She stood, patting herself down. “Did you find my cell on me?"

  "Yeah, but it's not going to do you any good. After he shot you, he threw you in the river. Your cell was not only waterlogged, but damn near in pieces when they fished you out. You want to borrow mine?"

  "Wouldn't do me any good,” she answered. “The numbers I need were programmed into my phone."

  He just shrugged. “Well, kiddies, I'm gone.” He turned and marched up the trail winding up the side of the shallow canyon, disappearing over the lip without a single backward glance.

  "Do you trust him?” Taggart asked her.

  "Do pigs fly?"

  "I'll take that as a ‘no'.” He exhaled loudly through his nose. “He's been a lot of help. If not for him...” He let his voice trail off.

  "He's got his own reasons,” she told him. “And what makes it really bad is that we can't begin to guess what they are."

  "That's a big problem,” Fogarty said, scratching around the edges of his crew-cut. “Damn mosquitoes."

  "He's probably right about you guys taking the fight to the ‘enemy.’ Even with the best of intentions, you'd probably just end up either dead or working for the other side. Most of the people she has aren't doing it willingly, which makes just shooting them out of the question."

  "Too bad we don't have some kind of stunners ... like on Star Trek or something. Then we could just zap ‘em and put them somewhere safe for the duration."

  "Believe me ... Vince—is it? Believe me, Vince. That's been on the police wish list for years. Killing a suspect makes it really hard to get information out of him later."

  "I can imagine. So what now?"

  "Well ... I don't really think you guys need a babysitter out here. I don't think you're in any immediate danger. I need to go warn my kid and his friends."

  "So Cory's okay?” Amazingly enough, both Taggart and Fogarty both actually looked fretful. She wouldn't have thought they'd even known him. Redburn High wasn't exactly a small school, and neither of these two would run in the same circles as Cory.

  Not that Cory had run in any circles at all, near as she could tell. Taggart had probably known of him, at least, through his connections with Ben. Fogarty might've seen him around, but it was unlikely he'd even exchanged two words with him.

  A single shot rang out, echoing down the river and interrupting her as she opened her mouth to answer. They all turned and started running the direction from where they thought it had come. A scrawny Black kid, his eyes like saucers, stood several hundred yards down-river, a battered 30-30 hunting rifle clenched in pale-knuckled hands. “I saw a wolf,” he said.

  "A wolf? Impossible. Probably one of those damned feral dogs,” Taggart muttered darkly. “Don't do that again. We don't have the ammo to waste. If it isn't actually threatening you, don't shoot at it."

  Fogarty didn't say anything, his silence seemingly indicating agreement. She thought she'd sensed an undercurrent of tension between the two boys—young men, she told herself sternly—but they were both smart enough to set it aside for the best interest of their rag-tag group.

  "I think it would be a good idea to try to keep your perimeter guard over the age of sixteen,” she suggested. “How old are you?” she asked the Black kid.

  "Fifteen,” he answered, looking a little sheepish.

  "Uh-huh.” The notion of a scared fifteen year old lugging around a decrepit old 30-30 gave her a chill for a moment, but she shook it off. “I don't like the fact that you're all armed. You might have had a bit of experience hunting groundhogs and other varmints, but this sort of deal is a little too much for you. Take the guns away from your younger kids and let the older ones work perimeter security.

  "How many of you are there, anyway?"

  Taggart thought about it. “There's thirty in this camp ... mostly seniors, with a couple juniors and freshman. But we've got another camp a ways farther out—that's where we stashed the younger kids. We stuck most of the girls there,” he admitted. “If we can't do anything else, we can draw attention to us here and keep the bad guys from realizing they're out there."

  Rachel gave a swift nod. “Commendable. That Chase's idea, or yours?"

  "Jim and I came up with it,” Taggart told her.

  "You seem unlikely partners,” she admitted. “How's that working out?"

  Taggart grinned at her. “Why, because he's a redneck jock and I'm ... not? It wasn't easy at first, but what other choice did we have? Between the two of us we have the loyalty of most of the Redburn High students."

  She didn't bother asking how that worked. She knew very well, and, what's more, he knew she knew. He was smart, hard as hell to pin down on anything. He'd never been caught with more than a gram or so of pot, though it was well-known throughout the department that he was out delivering quantities to repeat customers.

  He never sold to a cop, no matter how undercover that cop happened to be, like he had some sort of uncanny sixth sense that allowed him to pick a narc out from a hundred feet away. What he's doing out here, she thought, is earning him a hell of a lot of credit in my book.

  She usually wasn't in the habit of giving dope dealers a pass, but she wasn't sure she could ever put the effort into busting him after they wrapped all of this up. The fact that he and Fogarty had been able to keep this ragged bunch together was worth a lot. Especially they way they'd thought to protect the younger ones. Like she'd said—commendable.

  She checked the magazine in her Glock. Full. She jacked a round into the chamber, ticked on the safety, and shoved it into her waistband. “I gotta go talk to my kid. I'll be back before dark. If Chase shows back up, tell him I said to go screw a rolling donut."

  Taggart snickered.

  Fogarty just looked mildly amused. “We'll pass it on."

  * * * *

  She climbed the path to the overlook and drew her gaze across the row of dirt bikes like horses on a picket line. Finding one with the keys still in the ignition, she s
witched it on, swung her leg over, and kicked the bike to life.

  Fifteen minutes later she was on the back roads to Gina's place.

  * * * *

  Amanda sat up, blearily looking around the room as her brain tried to catch up with consciousness. The clock on the wall over the kitchen doorway said it was ten-thirty. Hours to go until the vamps would be up. Enough time to toss together a couple more spells?

  She surveyed herself and ended up shaking her head. She hadn't gotten enough sleep. She could push it and end up with a migraine for her troubles. Not a good idea.

  Where's Ben? She did a quick search of the place, not bothering to check Gina's room, where the three vampires lay like stiffs on a slab. The kitchen revealed nothing but an annoyed cat standing over an empty food bowl.

  I guess it says something that they didn't eat the family pet, she thought with a characteristically wry grin. Well. One spell for Julia, one for Ben, and three more.

  Her cell phone rang, interrupting the thought. “Keening."

  "Hey, Keening, why haven't you been calling in?"

  She winced. Shit. I forgot. The Head Office. Nightly reports. Her activation had been unusual enough she'd actually forgotten that part of the deal. Upon activation an agent is required to contact the office nightly to report any change in assignment perimeters and to receive new orders, if deemed necessary by the handler or the Commissioners themselves. “Shit. You're not going to believe this, but I just plain forgot. It's been crazy down here."

  "We're aware of the situation, more or less. We've dispatched another agent to assist. Are you okay?"

  "Physically, yes.” She quickly gave him a rundown of the current situation.

  When she got to the point about the spell she'd just concocted, he gave a surprised grunt. “You're saying you're using a spell to make mages?"

  "Yep."

  "Is it a permanent change?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Hadn't thought about it. It's four strands, though."

  "Unbelievable! You know everyone's going to want a copy of the spell, right?"