“You know she’s supposed to stay inside. So does her mother. It’s not safe. Your neighborhood was once filled with children playing in the streets. But now, people huddle in their homes as the militias fight for each city block. You know you should scold her and tell her to run back the way she came.
“But you can’t stay mad at her. She only just got her front teeth, and she’s smiling at you. This is what makes your whole day worthwhile. This is the air you breathe and the ground beneath your feet. She has her arms out for you to lift her.
“And then the bullets hit her. You can see the first one. It nearly severs her head from her body. You can’t help remembering how fragile her neck was in your hands after she was born, how carefully you had to cradle her. It took so long for her to be able to raise her head on her own.
“And in an instant, all that care and effort are gone. Shredded. Turned into nothing but bone and meat.
“Your only daughter. And you are still standing there, your arms out for her. Because even though you just saw it, you’re still hoping she will somehow reach you. That you will somehow be able to shield her. To protect her.
“But you’ve already failed.
“That’s when the Americans come and tackle you to the ground. And after you have been bound and gagged, after you have been jailed and kicked and beaten, a man will come to you. And he will tell you about bad intel and an unfriendly quarter and stray bullets. He will tell you it was unfortunate. He will tell you she was collateral damage, the inevitable cost of war. He will tell you all of that, and he will tell you they are sorry. But he will never tell you why he is in your country in the first place. And he will never be sorry enough.”
The prisoner went quiet again.
“You think killing people will get you your daughter back?” Zach asked.
“No,” the prisoner said. “But perhaps, if I kill enough of you, I will get to see her again.”
“Maybe,” Zach said. “And maybe you belong in Hell.”
They didn’t talk after that.
THIRTY-TWO
1928—Dunwich, Massachusetts—An unknown creature destroyed several homes and killed or injured more than a dozen people before being killed itself by a group of scholars from neighboring Miskatonic University. Possibly related to the Innsmouth incident.
—BRIEFING BOOK: CODE NAME: NIGHTMARE PET
They must have been digging for months, Cade thought.
The door led down a long vehicle ramp. At the bottom, it opened into the entry hall of the Black Site, where vehicles sat in a motor pool. There were cars, Humvees and even an armored personnel carrier. Archer/Andrews could overthrow a city with the ordnance stored in the garage.
At the center of the wide, open space was an elevator shaft and platform large enough for the vehicles. It ran on rails that went straight down into the Site. Smaller, passenger elevators lined another central wall. At both ends, doors led to stairwells.
Even a secret prison had to respect fire safety, it seemed.
Inside, the Site seemed more like a hospital than a jail. The floors were painted with the same slick gray coating used in garages all over America. The walls were spotless arctic white under the glare of the fluorescent panels above.
A human being might be fooled into thinking it was sterile. But not Cade. He could smell the truth under the disinfectant in the air: sweat thick with adrenaline and fear; the sweeter odor of ketosis as starving bodies began to eat themselves; the acrid burn of tear gas and pepper spray; the roast-pork scent of high voltage applied to human flesh; underlying it all, the base notes of shit and piss and puke and blood.
His mouth would have watered at the slaughterhouse odors, if not for the stink of waste.
Cade knew about torture. He was not so much of a hypocrite as to claim moral superiority over those who did it. But he was always amused at the attempts to minimize it. Cade was a horror; he knew it. He supposed the same involuntary recoil humans felt when they saw him caused them to flinch from what they did to one another.
The smell of shit, for example. He knew it came from the deliberate efforts to make the prisoners here lose control of their bowels. Even Cade, who hadn’t shat or pissed for over a century, knew that it was utter humiliation. It reduced a man to an infantile state, with the full adult knowledge of how low he had fallen into waste and filth and foulness. It took the most basic notions of self-control and literally turned them into shit.
And this was considered one of the more humane methods of interrogation.
Cade wondered why they didn’t just kill the prisoners. For some reason, that was going too far. He supposed that was ironic. Honestly, he wasn’t really sure what the term meant anymore.
A COLOR-CODED MAP BY the elevators marked different routes through the facility.
The main shaft drove straight down, through six levels radiating outward. Level Five appeared to be the cells; it was the largest. The staircases looped around the whole facility, touching all ends of all levels. Looking at the map too long might induce a migraine in a human, Cade thought. The Site looked like a kinked DNA helix bulging with mutations.
LAYOUT OF BLACK SITE
He’d have to find Graves and get Zach’s location from him.
He turned to Tania and explained what he needed from her while he was looking for Zach. She was less than thrilled at the division of labor.
“It’s a prison,” she whined. “All that caged stock, dizzy with panic and fear. You can’t ask me to pass that up.”
“You’ve had plenty to eat.”
“Is that a crack about my weight?”
Give me strength, Cade thought silently. Out loud, he said, “I would take it as a personal favor.”
She thought it over. “I do like the idea of you being in my debt. I even know what I want.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
“You don’t tell Zach you know about my deal.”
“Why not?”
“Not your concern. Take it or leave it.”
Cade nodded and turned to go on his own errand.
“Promise you’ll save at least a couple for me,” she said to his back.
He didn’t respond.
“No fun at all,” she said, but he heard her walk in the opposite direction. Cade had to hope she’d do as she was told.
IT WAS, SURPRISINGLY, no trouble at all to find Graves. He was one level down, sitting calmly at a desk in an office. He shuffled paper as if he were preparing a tax return.
“Where is he?” Cade said.
If Graves was surprised at Cade’s sudden appearance six thousand miles from where he’d left him in the ocean, he did an admirable job covering it.
Graves looked at Cade’s face, still distorted and rubbery, wearing the other man’s skin. “Have you had some work done?”
Cade leaned down to stare directly into Graves’s mirror-shaded eyes. “I have no more patience for you. Your life now depends on the answer to my question. Where is Zach Barrows?”
Graves leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Nah. You’re just not convincing me. Try it with a little more growl in your voice.”
Cade very badly wanted to snap Graves like a broom handle over his knee. He wanted it so badly he felt the oath impose itself on him, felt the beginning of the pain. As long as Graves had his pardon, Cade could do nothing.
Enough of this, Cade decided. He’d find Zach himself.
But Graves spoke before he could go.
“Hold on, Cade. We have some things to talk about.”
“Unless it’s Zach’s location, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“Really,” Graves said. “How about I tell you why all this is happening?”
Cade cocked his head. He was listening.
Graves leaned forward, eager.
“Think about America,” he said. “Do you really believe it’s possible for a nation to just stumble into the greatest power in the history of the world? We didn’t get where we are by Go
d’s grace or by clean living. There’s always a price. Someone’s got to pay the bills. You know the kind of currency I mean. For this kind of prosperity? There’s only one payment that will do: blood. And even with all the little wars we’ve kicked up, the tiny atrocities, the kids picking up land mines, America is still way, way, behind on the dues. We haven’t had major casualties since Vietnam—hell, World War II, if you think about it. There’s not enough suffering going on. We owe. And I believe you know who is coming to collect.”
Cade’s lip curled. “Disappointing,” he said.
“What?” Graves was insulted.
“You think I’ve never heard anyone predict the end of the world before?”
“I’m not wearing a sign and ringing a bell, Cade. It’s already happened. No matter what you do, you’re already too late: the world has ended.”
“Then why are we still here?”
Graves smiled. “You think the new world will be empty? We’ll need workers. The new management will require worshippers as well. Human beings, most of us, we won’t fit properly. But some of them can be adapted. Remodeled. Made to serve.”
“The Snakeheads.”
Graves nodded. “Exactly. Deep down, everyone knows this is the way it’s going to be. Hell, they’re even anxious for it. Why else do you think they’re all stuffing themselves with zombie movies and apocalypse books? They’re getting ready. They know what’s coming, and they want to get it over with.”
“But not you. You really believe your masters will protect you from the Hell you’re trying to unleash? They didn’t stop me from killing Bin Laden.”
“He was a tool, nothing more. My masters have plans for me. There are places reserved. When the smoke clears, we will emerge, better and stronger. And we will be rewarded. The new world will require enforcers, governors, supervisors—”
“Traitors,” Cade said. “Predictable. Selling out your own kind for the Other Side. You’re just another pawn. Another servant.”
Graves didn’t look offended. “Everyone has to serve someone. There are advantages to being on the winning side. You’d find out, if you joined us.”
Cade’s mouth twitched again. Really, Graves was cracking him up. “I can’t do that.”
“Don’t be so sure. How could you be loyal to the United States if it didn’t exist?”
For an instant, the vampire side of Cade rose to the idea. Freedom. To run wild, to kill whomever and whenever he wanted, even to slake his never-ending thirst.
Cade shook it off almost as quickly as it hit him. He was more than his baser instincts. Graves had made the same mistake as many others in assuming Cade was a prisoner of his duty. An oath only works if both sides agree to it. Cade had made his choice over a hundred and forty years ago. He would not break his word now.
“I’ve had stronger temptations from more terrible demons,” Cade said.
He turned to the office door.
“That’s it? You’re just leaving?”
No reply.
“I asked you a question.” Graves was shouting now. “You can’t just walk away from me.”
Cade had no interest in trying to explain it to Graves. He couldn’t do anything here, but neither could Graves stop him.
He had work to do, and it wasn’t here.
SOMETHING ABOUT CADE’S total disregard for him stuck in Graves’s craw. He’d admit it to himself, if no one else. He’d been frightened of Cade, haunted by the mere idea of him, for so long. And here he was, human-sized and unable to lift a finger against Graves. It was a chance that would never come again.
He reached behind his belt and pulled out the Gigli saw.
The Gigli was a loop of tempered steel wires with finger rings at each end. It was invented to cut through skulls for brain surgery. But the CIA knew a good tool when it found one. It could saw through a wooden two-by-four or even iron bars. It could be hidden inside lapels, heel compartments, even shoelaces.
It was listed in the official catalog of clandestine weapons as an escape device. Even in its own documents, the Agency liked to hide the truth.
Back in the Cold War, the Technical Services Division used to hand the things out like they came at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jack. Graves got his first one not long after he’d joined the CIA, before he was sent to Vietnam. He’d lost count of the number he’d used since then. The one in his hand came from a reputable surgical-supply firm.
He put his fingers through the rings and stepped behind Cade.
Used properly, the Gigli would behead a man in under thirty seconds.
What the hell, Graves decided. Let’s see how long it takes for a vampire.
CADE REALIZED HE’D UNDERESTIMATED Graves when the steel wire flashed past his eyes. Even with his reflexes, he was taken by surprise. Graves did not move like an old man. Cade barely got his hand up in time.
The looped wires bit into the flesh of Cade’s palm and sliced through to the bone. Graves didn’t hesitate. He put his knee in Cade’s back and pulled with all his might.
Graves didn’t have the strength of an old man, either. In a remote corner of his brain, Cade wondered what, exactly, had been done to Graves in order to give him this vitality.
Then Graves began to saw, and Cade felt the steel grinding his bones. That put the question more or less out of his head.
Cade was handicapped by the pardon covering Graves like a shield. He could not kill Graves, or even hurt him. But neither could he allow Graves to keep him from his mission.
Graves kneed him in the back again, and again. Cade pushed against the wire. It wouldn’t break. His hand was pinned against his own throat.
Cade felt his fangs emerge. He was starting to lose himself to his rage. But no. He was not about to forget who he was. He was still in charge of himself.
He snapped backward, rolling in the same direction that Graves pulled him.
Graves couldn’t hang on. He fell over.
Cade was on his feet, standing over Graves, on the floor. Graves realized he no longer had the saw in his hands. He looked around for it, and then looked up.
It was buried deep in Cade’s palm, the flesh trying to close around the wound already.
Graves was panting like a dog. His unnatural burst of strength had deserted him. Now he just looked like an old man who’d slipped in the kitchen.
He grinned at Cade. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.
Cade stared directly at Graves as he grabbed one ring of the saw and pulled. The saw came free of his hand with a slick pop.
He dropped it on Graves’s chest. And left.
Graves bellowed after him as the vampire moved down the corridor.
“You’re an idiot. What do you think you’re going to do down there?”
“My job” was all Cade said.
GRAVES WATCHED THE VAMPIRE GO. He shook his head. Stubborn. No reasoning with some creatures.
Graves took out his radio. “Baker team, this is Graves. Report.”
“Vaughn here, sir. We’re holding,” the answer came back. The squad leader sounded nervous. “We’re hearing some strange noises down in the cells—”
“That’s not your concern now,” Graves said. “I want you to move your men to Level Two, Sector B. Intruder moving west, on foot. Find him and kill him.”
“You said it was crucial to guard this corridor, sir. If anything were to get past us—”
“I’m giving you new orders. Understood?”
A slight hesitation. “Clear, sir.”
“Good,” Graves said. “One more thing. Your target will be alone, and apparently unarmed. Do not let that fool you.”
“Just one man.” Vaughn managed to make it sound like he was clarifying the order, not questioning Graves again.
Not exactly a man, Graves thought. But this wasn’t the time to get into it.
“Don’t give him a chance, Vaughn. You get one shot, then you’re lunch.”
He clicked off the radio before Vaughn could respond a
nd turned to his keyboard.
He entered a series of commands, followed by codes and passwords. The software behind the Site’s engineering and environmental protocols kept asking him to confirm the orders, like a bartender checking on a drunk who keeps asking for another round. Are you sure you want to do this? Y/N?
Graves was sure. Proctor and the higher-ups in the Company might balk, but he was tired of waiting for the Apocalypse. Maybe they weren’t prepared to light the fires, but he’d always believed in taking initiative. It’s why he’d come as far as he had.
And if anyone questioned him—if there was anyone left to question him, in the aftermath—well, then, he could disavow all knowledge.
But he didn’t think he was going to fail. Cade couldn’t stop him. No one could stop him. Armageddon was about to begin in the heartland of America.
He entered the final command: Open all cells.
Are you sure you want to do this? Y/N?
Yes. He was sure.
He hit ENTER, and with the tap of a key, set everything he’d been hiding in the Black Site free.
It was time to open the reptile house to the general public.
THIRTY-THREE
1955—Marineland, Florida—Locals report encounters with a reptilian, amphibious “Gill-Man,” supposedly captured from the Amazon. Several deaths are attributed to the creature, who vanishes into the ocean.
—BRIEFING BOOK: CODE NAME: NIGHTMARE PET
LEVEL SIX
Tania took the elevator shaft down to the final level of the Site. She levered the doors open by hand and slid down the cables. The elevator car blocked her descent at Level Five. She crawled down the side of it, headfirst, and then down the wall to the bottom level of the Site.
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