by Paul Cave
Another hand appeared and this one took a couple of minutes to untie the bootlaces. The grimy fingers moved in a lethargic and mostly uncoordinated way. The boots were pulled off and kicked away, landing in the small puddle of blood where the rat had met its end.
A crunch followed - a ghastly hollow sound. Liquid dripped onto the floor, mere inches away from Rebecca’s face. Instantly, she smelled the coppery stench of blood. She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut, sickened by the act above. Before she had time to flatten her hands against her ears, she heard another ghastly crunch, as the thing took a second bite out of the rat.
Then, thankfully, silence.
Rebecca opened her eyes and found that the mattress had levelled out in a redistribution of weight. Snoring loudly, the thing above slept. She pulled herself to the edge of the framework, ready to crawl free and make good her escape. Yet, as she summoned her courage for the dash to the exit, she caught a glimpse of the bloody puddle. In her mind, she heard another sickening snap, but this one was her spine breaking in two. Unsure if the snoring was real or just a ruse to get her out, she pushed herself back under the bed. She took a few deep breaths and decided to wait it out.
She spent the next few hours this way, torn between the desperate urge to flee and the fear of being caught. Exhausted now, Rebecca fell into a light but troubled sleep.
After what seemed like an eternity, the snoring stopped and the sleeper crawled heavily off the bed. Grey, calloused feet padded away, and then slipped themselves into the boots. The thing released a single, deafening cough, muttered something incomprehensible and then shuffled out of the room.
Rebecca spent a couple of anxious minutes waiting, before she found the courage to crawl from under the bed. She slid along on her belly, bringing her nose closer to the dried-up puddle of blood. She stood and stretched her back. Her spine cracked like a pistol shot as she worked the stiffness out.
She made her way towards the exit. A sparkle of light caught the corner of her eye. She stopped. The thing had pulsed in a kaleidoscope of colours. Stiff legs carried her to the object. In the middle of an old dresser table sat a vial of water, which glittered like a rainbow. She reached out to take it. The tiny amount of clear liquid sloshed about inside and the rainbow of colours pulsed quickly from red to green. She retreated out of the room before disappearing into the connecting passageway.
The vial had been tucked safely away.
Chapter Twenty
The heavy downpour obscured most of the surrounding scenery. The Buick cut through the shower, its wipers sweeping left and right in a desperate attempt to clear away the deluge. For the last hour Jacob Cain and Lieutenant Hutson had been making their way northward, driving slowly, heading towards the town of Glen Eagle, and then further towards the vampires’ encampment. So far, they had gone unnoticed. Once or twice, they saw the flicker of fire, somewhere off to the side of the highway, but now the rain had made everything around them invisible.
“Christ, it’s really coming down,” Lieutenant Hutson said, peering through the windshield.
Jacob sat at her side, carefully steering the Buick through the tunnel of darkness that had once been Interstate 76. He checked the fuel gauge and grimaced; only fumes remained.
“We’re gonna have to find shelter soon,” he said.
Hutson nodded. “Yeah, but where?”
In the back, with its hands bound and the gag still in place, sat the vampire. Occasionally, the fiend tried to murmur in communication, but both Jacob and Hutson simply ignored it, concentrating instead on the dangerous road ahead.
Earlier, they had dropped the small group off at the entrance to the underground base. For a few seconds Squirrel had stood confused, as Jacob took the wheel of the Buick.
“Let’s get her inside,” he’d said.
Jacob had shaken his head. “Sorry, Squirrel, but we need the ride.”
“Jeez … Bad day,” Squirrel had moaned.
This unexpected find had presented Jacob with an idea. Not just the discovery of the Buick, either. But, more importantly, the vampire found at the jailhouse. If the fiend could be used to grant the small group credibility, then just maybe Jacob could find a way to infiltrate the vampires’ inner circle and halt the advancing army before it reached the underground. Once they’d liberated some of the mechanic’s precious fuel, the small party of three had begun a journey towards the unknown.
Now, the torrent that fell forced Jacob to ease off the gas. He looked up and saw swollen clouds above. Jacob glanced at the milometer. This could be their last mile. They needed to find more fuel. Somewhere. Somehow.
He squinted through the windshield at something blocking the road up ahead. He hit the Buick’s full-beam and surprisingly, out of the dark, a huge metal object revealed itself. In the next second he recognised the thing and stared openly in shocked amazement.
“What the hell?” Hutson breathed.
“No way …” Jacob mouthed.
The vampire in the back mumbled incoherently.
Jacob lowered the headlights and then brought the Buick to a slow stop. About twenty feet of rain-soaked asphalt separated them from the object that blocked most of the highway.
“What do you think?” Hutson asked.
He turned to her. “Not sure. A trap, maybe?”
“Maybe …” Hutson agreed.
Directly before them, cutting diagonally across the slick black tarmac, sat a massive tanker-truck. Stencilled in large yellow lettering across the side of the tanker were the words: TEXACO FUEL. The truck looked abandoned. The cabin door had been left wide open and the driver’s side appeared to be unoccupied. The refuelling pipe had fallen away from the tanker and a steady stream of clear fluid pumped out across the highway.
“This is too good to be true,” Jacob said.
“Yeah,” Hutson agreed.
Jacob pulled a handgun from his waistband. He released the magazine to find it full.
“You’re not going out, are you?” Hutson asked.
“I’ve no choice. If that’s what I think it is - then I’ve gotta go,” he replied. He slipped the magazine back home and chambered a round. The muscles of his jaw twitched with tension. “Stay here, watch my back.” Before his nerve failed him, he popped open the door and stepped out into the driving rain. The icy sleet felt like slivers of glass against his skin. He tucked his head down to protect his face and made the short trip to the fuel-pipe.
He bent closer to the pipe and took a deep breath. He could smell nothing but the electrical ozone of the storm. He reached out to douse his fingertips in the flowing liquid. Then he brought his fingers under his nose. He took a breath, and again, he smelt nothing. What the hell? He tasted the liquid with a flick of his tongue.
Water?
Just rainwater …
“Oh, shit!” he snapped. He jumped to his feet and looked back towards the Buick. “IT’S A TRAP!” he yelled. He saw Hutson climb out of the vehicle and shout something back.
“WHAT?” Jacob called over the torrent.
She yelled again and this time pointed towards him. Jacob saw a flash of fire, and he felt a shot fire over his head. A hollow boom sounded above him as the bullet ripped a hole in the empty tanker. Jacob spun round in time to see a silhouette take shape above him. The outline split, now offering two targets. He stepped back, took aim at the shape to his left and pulled on the trigger. He saw the rain turn instantly red. A figure dropped to the ground at his side. A mane of damp hair spread out on the highway.
“Please … don’t kill me,” a bleached face begged, its bloodied hand raised in submission.
“What the hell is this?” Jacob questioned.
“It’s the end of the road,” a voice at his ear spoke. He spun on his heels and found himself looking into a bearded face.
“Night, night,” the bearded guy said.
“Uh?” Jacob responded.
The guy ginned. He took a step back and a large object appeared within his hands. A second
later, the rifle-stock connected with Jacob’s skull. He dropped instantly to the highway, beside the woman, whose initial look of fear had now been replaced by one of glee.
“Sweet dreams,” the guy said.
A shot rang out.
“BEN – LOOK OUT,” the woman who’d been wounded warned.
The guy, Ben, turned to her and snarled, “Where’s the shooter coming from?”
“There!” she said, pointing into the rain. Fear had returned to her face, turning it into a bleached, open-eyed mask of terror.
Ben spun around, bringing the rifle up in an instinctive and defensive attack. The wooden stock sailed through the torrent, missing Hutson’s shoulder by an inch. She skidded to a halt and watched the butt pass over her shoulder. She jammed her pistol into the side of Ben’s ample gut.
“Move and I’ll tear you a new asshole,” she warned.
The rifle slipped from slick fingers before it clattered out of his reach. He tilted its head towards Hutson and said, “Okay, Lady, enough already.” Two brown eyes, sparkling with intelligence, stared back at the lieutenant.
“I said enough,” the bushy-bearded giant said. Matted hair covered the guy’s entire face and head, leaving just enough flesh visible to acknowledge a flattened nose and two pebble-like eyes.
“What the hell is this?” Hutson asked, jamming her weapon against the guy’s head.
“Wait, we thought you were one of the undead,” the woman replied nervously.
“Yeah, that’s right. This is nothing but a misunderstanding,” Ben offered.
“Really?” Hutson said. “So if your friend doesn’t climb down from there, then I may have to blow your brains out, by accident.”
All turned towards the tanker. “Shee-yit,” someone said. A body rose and a gaunt face broke through the curtain of rainwater.
“Nick, climb down. We’ve got guests,” Ben ordered.
“That’s right, Nick. Get down, and real slow like,” Hutson cautioned.
“Okay, okay,” the guy above them conceded. He opened his arms out, turning himself into a cross, to gain balance, and then carefully made his way to the end of the tanker. As he trod over the curved metal, the tanker released deep hollow booms, reiterating the fact that the cargo was nothing but empty space.
“Jeez, Ben, you could’ve picked a better day to play highwaymen,” the guy said. He climbed down. His clothes had stuck to his bony frame, giving him the look of a drenched scarecrow.
“Yeah, Ben, real smart, getting us all wet like this,” the woman cursed.
“I didn’t hear you offering a better idea,” Ben responded.
“Call this an idea?” Nick the scarecrow chided.
“Yeah, look how it’s turned out,” the woman began. “You’ve got me shot, and now we have a dead guy lying on the highway.”
Hutson looked towards Jacob. “I hope for your sake, sister, he ain’t dead.”
“The name’s Tate,” the woman said.
“Well, Tate, you’d better pray Ben here used a little restraint while he was playing baseball with my friend’s head.”
“Barely tapped him,” Ben said, although he didn’t sound too convincing.
Hutson stepped away from Ben. Keeping the gun trained at the guy’s head, she felt at Jacob’s throat. A pulse beat rhythmically at her fingertips. “He’s alive,” she said.
“Thank the Lord,” Tate said, feigning concern. “A little help wouldn’t go amiss here.” She pointed to her leg, drawing attention to the crimson puddle that had spread from the wound.
Ben stood, with the intention of helping his friend.
“Hold it there,” Hutson warned.
He spread his hands, two huge hairy shovels. “Easy, sister, we’re sorry about the mistake.” He sounded genuine this time.
“Okay, help her,” Hutson said. She took a step back, allowing the huge guy to pass. Once she had all three in her sights, she retrieved the rifle, and then returned to Jacob. She slid the firing-bolt back. Surprisingly, an empty chamber revealed itself. “This thing’s not loaded ...?”
“No shit,” Nick said. “What do you think this whole charade was about?”
Hutson frowned. “Fuel, right?”
Nick laughed. “Sister, we’ve got all the fuel we need. What we need is food and ammo.”
“You’ve got fuel?” Hutson asked, shocked.
“Hell - yeah.”
“You’ve got … fuel?” she repeated, open-mouthed.
“Yes, WE HAVE FUEL,” Nick enunciated.
“Then you have to give us some,” she told them.
“Why?” Ben asked.
“Because we need it.”
“For what?” Ben and Nick asked in unison.
“That,” Hutson replied, pointing towards the Buick.
The small group before her began to laugh.
“What the hell’s so funny,” she demanded.
“That!” Nick responded, pointing to the stationary vehicle. “Our fuel wouldn’t get that to move more than three feet!”
“Then what good is it?” she asked miserably.
Ben and Nick looked at each other. “I think we’d better show her, don’t you?” Ben said.
“Yeah, I think we’d better,” Nick agreed.
“Show me what?”
Ben’s beard split to reveal bright white teeth. “Black Bird.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jacob Cain stirred. The hollow drumming of the rain hit something directly above him. He opened one eye to find himself stretched out on a makeshift cot. Hanging to his right was a small light, which illuminated the tent from one corner to the next. Directly to his right he found his handgun, lying on a crooked table. The table stood on two foldable skids instead of legs: US Army issue, he realised instantly.
“Hey, you’re awake,” someone said.
He tilted his head, but the movement caused the canvas walls to swell towards him.
“Take it easy, you got tagged pretty hard.”
Jacob took a deep breath before opening his eyes. The tent maintained its shape. “Where am I?”
“Safe.”
A large object swam into view. “You?” Jacob quizzed, looking at a large woolly face. The guy appeared to be dressed in either an oversized flight-suit or baggy overalls.
“Sorry, Pal. Misunderstanding, that’s all,” Ben said. “Didn’t expect to meet one of my own with a set of those.”
Jacob reached up and felt the ceramic fangs. “It’s a long story,” he responded. His hand dropped away and his attention turned to the weapon on the table.
“You want this?” Ben asked. He reached over and took the firearm. “Here,” he said, handing it over.
The handgun slid into the palm of Jacob’s hand. The weight of the thing told him it was still fully loaded. “Okay, so you’re not about to kill me,” he said, resting the weapon against his chest.
“Not today,” Ben said dryly.
“Okay, so what are you about to do?”
“That depends on you, Jacob,” Ben said.
Jacob’s eyebrow rose. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “If you’re up to it, I’d like to show you something.”
“Show me what?”
“Come, take a look.” The guy extended his huge hand. Jacob took the offer and felt himself pulled from the cot. As he stood, his head missed the roof of the tent by mere inches. Had Ben not been bent over, he would have probably cleared the canvas by at least a foot, maybe a foot-and-a-half.
“Seeing as I’ve already been introduced, what’s your name, friend?” Jacob asked.
The guy’s large hand formed itself above his right eyebrow, four straight fingers and one bent thumb. “First Lieutenant Ben J. Williams - United States Air Force, Sir!”
“Christ, the Military… ” Jacob moaned.
“Retired,” Ben said. “You can call me Ben.”
“Okay… Ben, what do you want to show me?” Jacob asked cautiously.
“Let’s
go.” Ben gestured towards the tent entrance.
Jacob followed the guy outside. The rain had finally stopped, but the air still felt charged with static electricity. They were camped just off to the side of the highway. Through the dark, he could see the Buick and the tanker-truck.
“Neat trick,” he commented.
“Sorry?” Ben asked.
“With the tanker. It’s a shame the Buick’s drier than a camel’s hoof.”
“What is it with you people? Always thinking of fuel. No imagination.”
A frown creased the tracker’s brow. Ben offered him a quick smile. He placed both his hands on Jacob’s shoulders and then forced him to turn on his heels. The breath caught in the tracker’s throat. “Dear God…” he croaked.
A huge shadow rose up from directly behind the tent. Four long rotor-blades drooped down from the top of the magnificent object, and the tip of one reached over the tent to stop just inches above Jacob’s head. A slim tail stretched out towards the darkness, hiding a second tail rotor. Soft green lights from an instrument panel illuminated the two-manned cockpit, and a red beacon flashed over the door to the main cabin, which added a hint of dread to the incredible sight. It wasn’t the fact that Jacob was looking upon a fully working helicopter that made his head spin either, but rather, the make! As if pulled from a distant memory and an even more distant conflict, the Huey sat there like some majestic mythological beast.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Ben said.
“Dear God...” Jacob repeated.
“Wait,” Ben continued. “You haven’t seen the best of it.”
A foolish grin formed across Jacob’s face. “Show me,” he said, and followed the former soldier. Drawing nearer to the aircraft, he saw the words U.S. AIR FORCE stencilled across the hull. Directly above the lettering was a large blue icon, which Jacob guessed to be that of an eagle.
“This can’t be,” he managed to say.
“It ain’t a trick of the eye,” Ben responded.
