by Leo Romero
He got out into the stairwell and worked out his strategy. There were two control rooms. One near the bottom on the eighth and one up on the seventy-fifth. If the cameras were still up and running, he’d be able to get a lock on that vamp bastard and then take it from there.
He scuttled down the stairs, his man boobs jiggling beneath his tee. If anything, his body was getting a well needed workout. All the racing down stairwells would get his blood pumping good for the final showdown.
By the time he made it down five floors, he was outta breath. He took a moment to go and lean up against the wall and let his lungs catch up. Man, the good ol’ days of three hundred pull-ups before breakfast and benching five hundred pounds like he was a silverback gorilla were long gone. But, he had just enough juice in the tank for one more battle. And it would be the biggest battle of his life.
He got going again, grateful he was heading down those steps and not up them.
He made it down to eighty, his tee stuck to his sweaty body. The whole way, flashes of previous battles played in his mind like a movie. He was gearing up, getting ready to face this asshole.
Seventy-five. At last. Gasping for breath, he staggered through the stairwell door. He made it to the control room. It was empty, just him and no one else. He expected to see at least one other soldier there manning the controls, but there was no one. Whatever, he just had to find this sucker, then it was on. He studied the myriad of screens ahead of him, his eyes darting left, right, up, down. He flicked buttons, changing the cameras.
Come on, come on...
He brought up the lower floors, where he knew the Chaos assholes were holed. Twenty-seven flicked on and—
Nixon gasped. The camera was showing up a decapitated Dragon slumped up against the wall. Nixon panned the camera down; the head was on the carpet nearby, his tongue hanging out.
“Christ!” Nixon blurted. He panned the camera around the room and it got worse. Dragon bodies lay left and right, missing limbs. “Oh no,” Nixon said to himself in horror. He flicked on another camera on the lower levels. The first thing he saw was a huge bloodstain on the wall; he panned down and he got a torn apart Dragon on the floor below. He grabbed his cheek. “Oh God...”
He checked another. Same thing. Bodies of allies, lying in their gore. He checked fifteen. Same. Twenty-two. Same. Thirty. Same. Thirty-five. Same. Blood, guts, and headless bodies all over the battlefield. Their guys. Despair dropped into his stomach with each brutal image, his heart swelling with fear. He looked away in terror. It was him. The vamp. He was working his way up the floors quick time, slaughtering the Dragon unit. Nixon’s brothers in arms. He was making mincemeat outta them all. None of them could stop him, their weapons didn’t work against him.
“I gotta find this asshole!” Nixon said to the air ahead of him, before studying the screens, flicking his eyes all over the place. “Where are you? Come on, come on, where are you?”
He flicked on floor forty. He caught a glimpse of some Dragons backing up. One of them was Sergeant Blunt. Nixon brought the camera around; they were backing up from the elevator. It popped open and out rushed the vampire, blood smeared all around his mouth. The Dragons opened fire and the vampire just ran at them, taking the punishment. He grabbed the nearest one and took a huge chunk out of the guy’s throat. Nixon winced.
He needed to do something. The cartel had control of the elevators from the lower control room. They must have been switching them on and off whenever their buddy ordered them to, letting him know which floors any Dragon soldiers were on, and then let him up to clear them out. Nixon knew he had to stop him before he made it up to the higher floors of the building.
He turned to the elevator controls. He threw on the other express elevator and ordered it up to his floor. He ran straight for it, leaving the control room behind. He needed to get in the elevator before they noticed it had been switched back on; he knew the override code he could plug in once inside, so they couldn’t stop him.
He made it in there and hit the switch for the fortieth.
The elevator plunged down. He watched the control panel with hot eyes, his grip on Maggie grimy and sweaty.
“Come on, come on,” he urged the elevator. He needed to get there before the vamp killed any of more of their guys. As the elevator went down, Nixon’s adrenaline levels went up. His heart thudded steady and hard, the sweat poured. This could be the final battle of his life. One way or other, it was gonna end. Either with the vamp going down, or him with his head between his feet.
The elevator continued on its journey to the fortieth and Nixon rocked on his heels. Come on, come on...
45, 44, 43, 42...
Come on, come on...
41.
40.
The elevator came to a halt and pinged.
Nixon’s heart jumped into his throat. The doors slid open and what was waiting in the floor beyond came into view. He took it all in, his eyes wide. The carpet was stained with blood; bodies strewn around like a bomb had gone off.
Nixon grabbed his head. He was too late.
Something ahead of him moved and he aimed Maggie right at it. A body was trying to crawl away. Nixon recognized it. Sergeant Blunt. Nixon jumped out of the elevator, aiming Maggie left and right. He made it to Blunt’s side and crouched down. Blunt had a chunk of his throat missing. He was making nasty guttural sounds every time he tried to breathe. His cold eyes fell on Nixon, and he reached up a trembling hand.
A surge of anger shot up Nixon’s chest. He reached in, grabbed handfuls of Blunt’s khaki tee and yanked him up off the floor. Their faces were inches apart. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a frickin’ vamp in here!” Nixon sneered, spittle flying out of his mouth and hitting Blunt in the face.
“We... weren’t prepared!” Blunt managed with a coarse voice, blood spurting out of the wound in his neck. “We weren’t... expecting a... Chaos Don.”
“Well, here’s here!” Nixon screeched, shaking Blunt. Blunt began zoning in and out of consciousness.
“And he’s killed most of our men!” Nixon added.
Blunt coughed up blood; it spilled down his chin. He then went limp in Nixon’s grip. His cold gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Nixon groaned in disgust. He threw Blunt down to the carpet like a piece of trash. What kind of Sergeant was he? He’d left his troops to die in cold blood.
Nixon stood and glared at the carnage surrounding him. His heart bled for the fallen. He bowed his head in respect of—
A roar from behind made him whirl. Before he could react, a claw scratched across his hand holding Maggie. Nixon shrieked at the tearing pain in his hand. Maggie fell to the carpet. Nixon threw up his free hand in self-defense, just as the Chaos Don grabbed hold of his shoulders and threw him forward. Nixon was pushed helplessly back across the carpet, his arms flailing.
His back slammed into the wall, the impact stealing the breath from his chest. He groaned in agony, panic fizzing through his mind. He wanted to fight back, but was debilitated. The vamp stuck a hand on Nixon’s throat and squeezed. Nixon felt the blood pooling in his head. He was lifted up off his feet as if he weighed next to nothing. His back slid up the wall, while he waved his arms on the air. He rolled his eyes down. He got a glimpse of the Don’s forehead and hair. Nixon grabbed hold of his wrist, hoping to yank it off, but it was stuck tight to his throat, vise-like.
He began choking, his whole body trembling, his feet shaking on the air.
“Die!” the Don sneered, and increased the pressure. “Die!”
Nixon flapped his hands around like an excited seal. His mind was caught in survival mode; it was desperate, needed to do something. NOW!
His hand found something on the wall and he grabbed it. He yanked the small fire extinguisher out of its holder and whipped it across the air. The can connected with the Don’s temple with a hollow dong!
The Don grunted. His grip loosened and Nixon dropped to the floor with a hot grunt. He slid his back up the wall ASAP, p
ulling the safety pin from the canister in his hand. The Don’s head had been snapped to the right. The moment he recovered from the blow, he spun his head around, his face contorted in a snarl.
Nixon didn’t hesitate. With a yelp, he pushed down the operating lever. A jet of opaque mist streamed into the Don’s face, right in his eyes. The vamp screeched, throwing his hands up to his face. He staggered back under the pressure. Nixon roared as he unloaded the canister. When it was empty, Nixon threw the extinguisher at him; it clanged against his head and bounced across the carpet.
Nixon seized the initiative he’d created. Ignoring the burn in his throat, he raced past the Don, pumping his weary arms and legs with the fury of a wildebeest evading an encroaching lion. Maggie was lying on the floor, calling to him. His only hope. He dived across the carpet with a war cry as if he was scoring the winning touchdown. He landed on top of her. He whipped her up and rolled onto his back. He sat up, just as the vamp whirled his way. The Don removed his hands from his face; his eyelids were covered in white crystals that hung from his lashes, the skin on his face frostbitten, puffy and flaky, his nose a red sore.
On laying eyes on Nixon, a demonic howl of rage escaped him. Nixon had seconds to react. He sat upright, fumbling Maggie in his hands. “Come on, baby, come on, baby,” he cooed to her, his breathing hot and ragged.
The Don lunged for him, Nixon’s advantage lost.
Nixon got a good grip on Maggie and threw her barrel up toward the advancing vamp. He had one shot. One shot. One bullet, one shot. He had to make it.
He got an eye closed, just as the Chaos Don’s puffed-up face came fully into view. Nixon aimed at his chest. Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon!
He licked his lips, the Don’s wild roar reverberating in his ears. An image of Charlie flashed in Nixon’s mind. This one’s for you, buddy!
Nixon found the exact spot, just as the Don was virtually on him.
“Gotcha!” Nixon whispered, just before he pulled the trigger.
The report ricocheted off all the walls and back again.
The Don stopped in his tracks, the impact negating his momentum. The armor-piercing slug tore right through his chest and came out the other side; it slammed into the wall beyond, leaving a neat hole.
The Don staggered back, his hand flying up to where he’d been shot. Nixon watched him with eager eyes. Did I get his heart? Did I get it? DID I GET IT?
If he didn’t, the vampire would recover and have his head off his shoulders before he could blink. He had no other defense against him.
He waited in anticipation, sprawled across the carpet, his mouth agape. The Chaos Don reached a claw on the air; he clenched and unclenched it. His frostbitten eyes glared at Nixon, full of spite. His other hand was over his heart, right where the slug penetrated him. He let out a growl as he teetered.
“Puto!” he sneered, his eyes flashing with disbelief.
And then, to Nixon’s relief, his eyes rolled up into his head and his body collapsed onto the carpet. He briefly juddered, then became still.
After a second or two, Nixon fell onto his back. “Oh man!” he groaned. He rolled from side to side, moaning as if caught in the middle of an orgasm. A riptide of relief was flooding him. “Thank Christ!” he blurted.
He gave Maggie a big, sloppy kiss. Then, “That was for you, Charlie,” he said to the ceiling in between pants.
When the adrenaline rush subsided, he managed to climb back to his feet. The other cartel assholes in the building would be looking for their boss at any moment, no doubt watching proceedings through the CCTV.
He went over to his defeated foe and glared down at him. There was a perfectly round hole in his chest, right where his heart was. Nixon brought Maggie’s barrel up to his cheek again. He shivered under her touch. “Freaking A,” he said in a hot whisper.
“Better luck next time, buddy,” he then said down to the dead Chaos Don. Now, with this guy gone, the rest of his crew would fall like dominoes.
He raced over to the elevator and went back up to the control room on the seventy-fifth. He got on the loudspeaker system.
“This is a message to any surviving Dragon-stay-behinds,” he barked, his voice going out to every floor of the Tower. “I’m General James Nixon AKA Husky Flamingo, and I’m taking over this unit. The Chaos Don is dead, repeat, the Chaos Don is dead. I smoked him myself. Now, for the cartel assholes who still think they got a chance. Uh-uh, your vampire master is pig feed. Dead. Now, you can either leave or stay and be killed, your choice, I’d advise you to choose the former. That’s the first option by the way. Leave.”
He sniffed hard and rubbed his nose. He caught a glimpse on the CCTV screens of Chaos assholes already scramming out to the stairwells.
Nixon got back on the loudspeaker. “To my Dragon brothers. Let it be known that victory is ours. This is the start of a new dawn. Nothing will stand in our way. Now, let’s go clean house!”
PART SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Troy’s eyes flicked open to darkness. For a second, he was disorientated, but then he nodded, knowing what was up. Of course, they’ve bagged-up my head. Why break the habit?
His eyelids were heavy, his head groggy like he’d been heavy at the mescal the night before and ate the frickin’ worm. His body then rocked from side-to-side and up and down in a weird, unstable motion, and he knew he wasn’t in the trunk right now. A constant rasp of an engine filled the air. Every now and then, he was getting a spray of water on his arms.
Am I on a boat? he asked himself in confusion. The last thing he remembered was staring at a chopper, then getting jabbed up with something that knocked him clean out.
The sound of the engine then petered out and they came to a stop. Within moments, rough hands were grabbing at him.
Troy resisted. “Hey! Get off me!”
They didn’t. Instead, they kept pulling him upward.
“Hey. I need to pee again! Okay? Now, let me go. You don’t want me to crap thunder again do you?”
After a brief pause, the bag was ripped from his head. Troy squinted his bleary eyes. He was surrounded by trees overhanging a giant river. Huh?
He turned back to be faced with a couple of gorillas holding flashlights. They were standing on the deck of the small boat they were on. One of them pointed at the river. “Be quick!” he said before he began undoing Troy’s cuffs.
“Yeah, I’ll be quick,” Troy said, taking in more of his surroundings. The bushes and trees around him squirmed with wildlife. “Where are we anyhow?”
They didn’t answer him. His wrists were released and he made his way to the edge of the boat. He peeked overboard. A big, dark river stared back at him. He shivered. He turned back. The gorillas were watching him. “Hey, I can’t go if you’re watching!” Troy snapped.
The gorillas reluctantly turned their backs on him.
Troy faced the river once more. He sighed. This is it. The final leg of my ascension to greatness.
Excitement brewed in his belly. Man, it was so close. The unification with Magdalena. She was waiting for him; poor chick had been waiting for centuries for her man to arrive. Well, I’m on my way, baby!
He stuck his hand into the crotch of his chinos and pulled out Trixie’s smartphone. He gave it a brief stare, then dropped it in the river. It disappeared into the depths in seconds. “Sorry, Trixie,” he mumbled as he watched it go. “Destiny awaits.”
He then turned back to the gorillas. “Okay, boys, let’s go.”
They bagged and cuffed him again and led him onto land. He was shoved into the back of a vehicle where he was sandwiched between the stinky, sweaty gorillas and off they drove through the jungle till they reached their destination.
They pulled him out and dragged him through the jungle, weird birds cawing overhead, the ground soft and mushy, the air thick, humid like the inside of a greenhouse.
After a long walk, everything suddenly turned cold and dank, the ground becoming more solid beneath h
is sandals. Stone, definitely stone. His footfalls now echoed all around him. His eyes widened beneath his hood. They were inside!
Yeah, this must be Magdalena’s temple, has to be, he told himself, overjoyed. It had been a long, tiring journey, but finally el Sanguinario was about to be united with the Unholy Mother in a dark wedlock. Together they’d rule the Chaos Order from the shadows. A bit like Anthony and Cleopatra. Troy grinned at the thought. Yeah, he could dig that. To be worshipped and praised till the ends of time while his legions of vampires and fangheads conquered the globe on their orders. He’d never joined a faction before, but maybe now was the right time. The right time for his complete transmutation into vampire. A couple of bites from the Unholy Mother (whose venom just had to be the bomb. Had to be!) and he’d be there; a powerful, god-like vamp. Nice.
Hey, maybe they got a throne waiting for me, he thought to himself in delight. How about a crown? That would be cool. He sighed in satisfaction, imagining himself perched on his throne, his gold crown resting on his head while the Unholy Mother bestowed upon him her ancient loving. He envisaged her as an exotic vampire queen, her thigh muscles well-honed for the task, oiled, ready, and willing for him (a bit like Trixie but without the bad attitude), scantily clad in nothing but a loincloth and tiny bra made of jungle vine. He pictured her eyes glittering like the rarest jewels. Yes, she’d make a fine wife for a king-god-badass like him. In his mind, he rubbed his hands in glee. Bring it on, bitches!
They moved further into the temple, Troy puffing his chest out with pride. He was about to be anointed by her majesty, to be named her king; the greatest honor.
They came to a stop; he sucked in a huge breath, his heart skipping a beat. This was it. This was the moment. The low rumble of stone scraping against stone reverberated around him. He stared into the darkness, a sense of anticipation rising inside him. The rumbling then stopped, and everything went quiet. It remained that way for a while longer.
