I’d have to make it work.
My jaw hurt where the shotgun hit me. It wasn’t broken, but I would have one helluva bruise in an hour or so. My side hurt above my hipbone; I would bet it was also bruised from sliding into the cave, either from the clips on my belt or the rocks.
Suck it up and move on.
Looking down, I started following the spotted trail of black vampire blood. It zigzagged across the ground in spits and spurts. Jimmy was a step behind me. I spoke without breaking stride. “How secure are the animals? What are the facilities like?”
“They’re like a bunker, man. All concrete and iron bars. They don’t want any of the animals getting out and they were designed to hold up in case of tornado season.”
Georgia is prone to tornadoes in the spring. The season doesn’t last long, but they can come suddenly and viciously. Tornadoes happen over flat land, which there isn’t much of in the city. Except the forty acres of cleared land for the zoo.
“Any wood or glass doors or windows?” I ask.
“Nope. All metal doors. Any windows are small and covered by steel grates. Why?”
“’Cause we have a wounded vampire on our hands. It’s losing blood, which means it’s losing strength. It’s going to try and get fresh blood so it can heal. If it can’t get to the animals, then it will try for the humans.”
I watched him look at the trail of blood. His eyes widened as he realized what I had already figured out.
The Nosferatu was heading toward the administration building.
8
The glass door hung from one hinge, crumpled like a used tissue. Tiny shards of broken glass littered the ground, twinkling in the full moonlight overhead. Even weakened, the vampire would be inhumanly strong. Vampires can bench-press SUVs if they want when they are unhurt.
I stepped inside, gun up and at the ready. Jimmy the zookeeper was just a step or two behind me. The lobby was undisturbed except for a path of old magazines that had been scattered across the floor. They looked like they had been inside a wind tunnel. I was betting they’d been slung around by the back draft of the Nosferatu’s wings. They trailed to the hallway that led back to the offices. A wide black smear slathered down one wall, pointing the way.
Moving down the hallway I found more blood. Things on the walls had been torn down and littered the carpet. I kept my gun out and moved on, Jimmy hot on my trail. As I stepped to a corner, the rosaries around my hand started to shine. The glow got brighter as I moved further in, slinging light all around. The vampire blood began to smoke under the holy glow as I passed by it. Another turn in the hallway came up.
I could hear noises. Snaps and cracks, the shrill shriek of the Nosferatu, and a man sobbing. The rosaries were so bright I had to move them to my other hand so I could hold them down and out of my sight.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped round the corner, gun at the ready.
I found Dr. Critter trying to hold off the Nosferatu with a bullwhip and an office chair.
He stood tall and straight, holding the chair out in front of him. His arm swung back and rolled forward, the bullwhip curling in a long, thin black line. It flicked out, striking the vampire across the face with a resounding CRACK! Greasy fur split apart as the whip rolled back through the air. The Nosferatu shrieked again, filling the air with sound waves that beat my chest like the bass line at a rock concert.
Mr. Beauregard was behind the vampire, slumped against a desk. Blood from a torn throat soaked his seersucker suit in a slowly widening stain. The blood crept through the fabric like a thief. As the color spread through his suit jacket, it leached from his skin, leaving him pallid, waxy, and slightly blue.
The Nosferatu spotted us with a scream that ripped the air. She danced around, leaping from one foot to the other. Thick gore painted the fur on her chest and around her mouth. I couldn’t see any bullet holes, so she must have drunk enough to heal. Her lower jaw was distended and three-inch fangs dripped with blood-flecked foam. Those red eyes blazed out of her skull, staring at me. Staring at my gun.
The bullwhip rolled at the end of Dr. Critter’s arm. The braided leather cut the air like a razor. It snapped across the bloodsucker’s chest, breaking the sound barrier and breaking skin. The whipstrike overreached, crossing too far inside the Nosferatu’s grip. A flash of wing and one clawed hand snatched the end from the air. A hard yank pulled it from Dr. Critter’s hand, but not before he stumbled two or three steps.
Two or three steps closer to the creature.
It was all Nosferatu needed.
In a blur she struck, winged arms wrapped around him like a cocoon, flat-nosed face buried in the crook of his neck. The copper and rust smell of blood hit the air as she rode him to the ground, drinking deep. I jerked my gun up. If I shot her, the bullets would have to pass through him. I shook out my rosaries and moved to drive her off him.
Jimmy the zookeeper darted around me. A wax-crusted rubber stopper bounced off my chest as he ran by, rebel yell tearing out of his mouth. He tossed holy water across the vampire. It splashed up and over her complete wing. The thin membrane smoked and sizzled as the holy water ate it away like acid. Holes burned from one side of the skin to the other, some big enough to put a hand through.
The bloodsucker reacted like she had been hit with a live wire. She shrieked, shooting pain through my head, and bucked off Dr. Critter. She slammed into the ceiling; acoustic tiles and air ducts rained down. The smell of burnt hair and rotten bacon was thick enough to kick in a gag reflex. She took a swipe at Jimmy, knocking him to the ground; her claw split his forehead open, splashing crimson up into that massive mullet. I opened fire, drumming nine shots through the air at her in a blink. Three of them hit. Her leg and stomach slung black blood out onto the carpet.
I pushed the button, dropping the empty clip to the floor. My hand had another one and was moving to reload. I had done it so many times I didn’t have to look down. So I saw her come after me.
Then I felt it.
She was on me.
Fur slapped against me as she tried to crush me in her long arms. I pushed and shoved. I couldn’t let her get a grip. If I did, it would be over. I swung my gun up, ramming the barrel into her throat. My finger pulled out of habit, but the gun was still empty. She had knocked the clip out of my hand before I could slide it home. I pushed the gun, driving it as deep as I could into the soft part of her neck. Vampires don’t breathe, but it did choke off her incessant screeching.
Fire cut across my shoulders like a razor. The claws of her hand dug into my flesh, ripping and tearing. The tatters of her ruined wing slapped wetly on my back. Fangs snapped the air, trying to sink into my throat as I held her off. Pressure on my thighs was joined with sharp pain as she climbed me like a monkey, talons digging in, rat fur covered body rising up to overpower me. I slammed into the ground with her on my chest. The world went dark as her weight shoved the air out of my lungs. My arm swung loose, pulling the gun away from her throat. The bitch screamed as she straddled me, rearing back to strike. Jaw stretched open like a snake, mouthful of fangs gleaming deadly in the fluorescent light. Foam fell from her jaws in clumps to spatter on my chest. Her thighs tightened on my waist, seizing my diaphragm in a twist of pain. Claws dug into my chest. She tensed. She struck.
I shoved the rosaries in her mouth as she came down.
The holy light from them blazed white, so bright I could see the bones of my hand outlined. Heat flared, drying all the foam from her jaws into a crust. Holy fire crackled across her fangs with blue sparks.
In a flash she ripped herself off me, running down the hallway and disappearing around the corner with a wail and a trail of smoke from burnt undead flesh.
I sucked air in. My lungs felt bruised, aching with each breath. I rolled over to my knees. Exhaustion pulled at me. My jeans were ripped and blood-soaked where the vampire’s claws had dug into my thighs. The gash across my shoulders still burned. I was glad I couldn’t see it. Pushing off, I stood up. My fingers
were raw as I pulled a clip off my belt and slid it into my gun. Looking at the rosaries, I saw fat blisters forming from where they had burst into flame from touching undead flesh. My hand felt swollen, full of saltwater, like it would slosh if I shook it.
Turning, I found Jimmy the zookeeper pressing his shirt against Dr. Critter’s throat, stanching the blood flow. Dr. Critter was pale, his skin waxy, but his eyes were open. Jimmy had a cell phone in his hand. Stepping over, I knocked it away. He yelped in surprise and anger.
I looked down at him. “You can’t call any help.”
“He’s bleeding like a stuck pig. I gotta call an ambulance.”
I shook my head. “You can’t. That thing is still out there and it is not dead. If you call for help, then you are just ordering it a meal.”
Jimmy’s face was turned up at me. His fingers were coated with red like he had dipped them in paint. “What if he dies?”
“Hopefully he won’t.” It sounded cold, even to me. “Either way he has to wait until I kill this thing or the sun comes up.”
The Nosferatu would go to ground now. If Jimmy called in an ambulance crew then we might as well ring the dinner bell. I had to go after it to finish the job. If not, it would hole up, find some easy prey tomorrow, drink some blood, and build its strength. Then it would be back to killing wholesale again; since I had spoiled this hunting ground, it would probably go to the surrounding neighborhood and feed on humans. The crime rate was so high the police may not even notice.
That wasn’t going to happen. Not on my watch. I took a step away.
“Stay here. Wait for me to come back. If I don’t, then wait for the sun to come up and call Detective Longyard. He’ll know what to do.”
“You look like hell yourself, man. What are you going to do?”
I held my gun up. “Suck it up. Keep moving. Finish this.” I turned and followed the Nosferatu’s bloodtrail into the night.
9
I stood over the open storm drain. The cover had been tossed to the side and there was black bodily fluid smeared around the steel rim of the tunnel. I could see the top rung jutting from the concrete hollow. Under it, an inky shadow ate all the moonlight, looking as solid as the concrete it filled. Sewer gas wafted up in a pungent green aroma. The Nosferatu had gone to ground down that hole. I did not want to follow it, not down that dark, dank hole.
I had to follow it to whatever lay in that dark, dank hole.
I hate places that are enclosed on all sides. I’m not claustrophobic; I’m just a lot bigger than an average person. Where an average height sewer-worker might fit I would probably get stuck. Being stuck in a concrete tunnel with a wounded, thirsty Nosferatu is a real bad idea.
My gun slid into its holster under my arm. Dread swelled in my gut, sitting heavy and sick. I would need both hands to climb down the hole, which meant no gun and no flashlight until I was inside. I sat on the edge of the hole and dropped my feet in. My spine was locked in an aching grind as I waited for something to grab them and haul me down into the dark.
Nothing happened.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My foot found the iron rung, the thin band cutting across my instep even through the thick rubber soles of my boots. Slowly I lowered myself in. The hole was tight on my shoulders. So tight my back rubbed against the rough concrete and I had to keep my arms stretched over my head. The air in front of my face grew hot, trapped between my arms and the concrete wall in front of me. I took a last breath and dropped down the rungs. Blackness stole my vision. I closed my eyes because the dark was so complete it gave me vertigo. The black swam in my eyes even though I couldn’t actually see anything.
Stepping quickly, I moved down the rungs. The skin tore on my back and elbows as they scraped down the tube. It was getting narrower, squeezing in on me. Crushing me. I would be stuck, trapped. I would die surrounded by concrete and darkness, my breath eating the tiny bit of oxygen I held right in front of my face.
My foot missed a rung and I was falling. Plunging. Fingers scrabbling, slipping on cold iron as the world dropped out from under me. For a split second there was nothing but the tug of gravity as I hung in space and everything fell away from me.
Then I crashed into the bottom of the tunnel.
The concrete floor smashed the air out of me. Lightning flashed inside my closed eyes from the jolt. Pain lashed up my right arm as it banged against the wall. Numbness chased the pain to my fingertips, funny bone vibrating from the blow.
I sucked air in desperately, choking on sewer fumes. Cold water soaked my legs through the denim of my jeans. Something with too many legs skittered by, brushing my face with prickly feet, making me jerk my head away. Slowly I got to my feet, using the wall to pull myself up. My flashlight nearly fell out of my hand as I fumbled it from my belt.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, just let this thing work.
Pushing the button I was rewarded with a bright circle of bluish light. Thank you.
Reaching for my gun I couldn’t feel my fingers. My grip strength was for shit as I pulled the gun free of the holster. Heavy in my hand, it threatened to fall to the ground. I prayed I wouldn’t need to use it before my hand recovered. If so, I would drop it with the first shot. Sweeping the flashlight around, I saw I was in a tunnel, not quite big enough for me to stand up in. A shallow stream of filthy water ran down the center. Dense fumes wafted back and forth, thick toward the ground, thinner up by my face. The air still made my eyes burn with a rotten egg smell of sulfur. It lay heavy on my tongue, tugging at my gag reflex with every swallow. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and that helped a little. My head hurt and I couldn’t tell if I had hit it when I fell or if the gas was causing it. I had to move. Too long down here and I would not make it back out.
The ultraviolet bulb in the flashlight made the concrete glow. I studied the walls, looking for a sign of which way to go. Taking a few steps I found it. Blood splatter.
Blood does not glow in ultraviolet light. I know it does on TV, but that isn’t real life. Forensics units do spray Luminol, a chemical agent that reacts with iron in hemoglobin, to make blood patterns glow in UV. I don’t carry Luminol with me. Without Luminol, blood actually absorbs ultraviolet light, making it look solid black. Under the light of my flash, the Nosferatu’s blood stood out like a signpost. Carefully I followed it, trying to not splash in the sewer water.
It wasn’t long before I found the first rat.
It was a sewer rat. I hate sewer rats. They aren’t normal rats. No, they live in sewers and live on shit and carrion. They look like a regular rat that a mad scientist has grown to mutant proportions. The one I found was the size of a cat. The head had been ripped off and the body crushed and misshapen. My imagination flared and I could picture the Nosferatu using the rat like a beer. Popping the top. Drinking it down. Crushing the empty.
More rat bodies led the trail and I stopped looking for blood spoor to track. I was moving faster, feeling the pressure of time. The amount of blood in a rat wouldn’t do much to heal the vampire, but every one would do a little. From the trail of carcasses, it was clear she was on the road to recovery. I had to catch her before she got too strong and I got too weak. I was feeling the burn in my lungs from the sewer gas and my shirt tasted like bitter salt over my mouth. The streams running down my face soaked the shirt; my eyes were raw from exposure.
An intersection of sewer line was just ahead. The sound of squealing called around a corner.
I leaned on the wall and darted a glance down the adjoining tunnel. The Nosferatu was there. She was kneeling and holding three rats the size of Chihuahuas. There was a pile of something in front of her that moved and shifted. A three-inch claw slashed out from her other hand, decapitating the rats. Their screeches choked off to silence. For a second I heard no sound at all and then soft, dove-like coos came from the Nosferatu. The pile in front of her shuddered and rustled moistly.
Easing my gun forward, I aimed at her back. It is hard
to get a good draw on someone from around a corner when you don’t want to be spotted. I had the laser turned off so I wouldn’t tip my hand, but just as I got the three dots on my sights lined up with the center of her spine, the bloodsucker spun and hissed at me. Dammit, there went the element of surprise.
Stepping out into the open I pulled the trigger.
The vampire screamed down the tunnel, twisting and crawling on the walls and slithering up to the ceiling. My bullets missed until she was right in front of me. She zoomed up, body nearly brushing the barrel of my pistol. I fired and a bullet plowed into her chest from inches away. Blood splashed across me and she crumpled to the wet floor of the tunnel. The slide on my gun locked back.
Somehow I had held onto the gun. My brain told my thumb to flick the magazine release, but it just lay there against the grip, useless. I used my other hand to drop the slide then put a new clip in and unlock the slide. It jerked forward, stripping another bullet of the clip and putting it in the pipe, ready to fire.
The Nosferatu lay on its back, a hole in the center of her chest where her heart should be. She lay still, legs folded underneath her body, arms spread to display the tatters of her wings. She looked dead.
She wasn’t. If she were dead she would be dust. Even with her heart blown to jelly in her chest she could heal this. Given enough time and a little blood, she could repair this damage. Sooner or later a rat would wander too close and she would strike, drinking its strength, regaining some of hers.
I wasn’t going to let that happen.
Pointing the gun at her head, I pulled the trigger and splashed her brains out on the concrete. For a second she lay there, still and dead. Then corruption crawled through her body. She crumbled into dust like a regular vampire, turning to sludge in the sewer water and washing away.
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