by Al K. Line
The glue eventually became diluted and ran down the side of my face to be absorbed by my already sweat-soaked hair. I could finally keep my eyes open without it burning or pain spasming in my head.
It was a total waste of time and expended energy I sure didn't have, as all I was confronted with was the sight of a suspended ceiling, the only point of interest one of the tiles where a small hole had been punctured through, probably by a dodgy electrician. Boring.
I tried to turn my head, knowing it was futile but doing it regardless. My head was held fast, immobile like the rest of me. Strapped down, weak, helpless, and at Carmichael's mercy.
"What do you want?" I asked, although it came out more like, "Wa de wa?" which was understandable. I hadn't drunk in a day and a half, was full of poison, and my mouth was bloated, dry, and crisper than Carmichael's shirt collar.
"Give him some ice," ordered Carmichael again.
Footsteps once more, then a woman came into view, smiling in that perfect bedside manner all carers who really don't care have. She was as genuine as my Rolex.
"Just keep it in your mouth. Let it melt. Don't try to swallow too soon, and don't crunch it," she ordered as she placed a sliver of ice between my lips.
Oh, it was heaven. Cold, sharp, and deliciously wet. I sucked on it like it was liquid gold and felt the relief instantly.
"More," I rasped.
The woman turned her head, clearly got Carmichael's approval, then placed a larger piece in my mouth. Over the next ten minutes my thirst was if not quenched then abated and I could talk almost normally although my lips and tongue remained terribly swollen.
"Enough?" she asked.
I nodded, then said, "I'll kill you first."
Her eyes widened in fright and she jumped back as I cackled, knocking the IV drip. Something snagged and she tripped, the whole drip rolling away as a tube was ripped from my arm. A machine beeped angrily, I laughed, some might say rather manically, or maybe desperately, and the woman made a hell of a racket. Shame I couldn't see.
"You fool," shouted Carmichael, his chair screeching on the tiles as he stood hurriedly.
The relief was instant. The drug no longer keeping me subdued was out, spilling over the floor, and for a moment I had clarity. Not full-on super Arthur clarity like I normally had, but a moment of strength and insight after being semi-comatose.
And in that moment, in that single instant, I called forth every ounce of magic I had. All that I was, all that I'd ever been, all the magic I'd done, all the power I had, I fired it down through my will into my hand, battled on as it struggled and became sluggish, refusing to manifest, and ordered it to obey. The scrubbers vibrated the air angrily. I gritted my teeth and continued, single-minded and utterly focused as Carmichael approached.
One step. Two steps. Wait for it. Three.
He was beside the woman now, pulling her to her feet. I held in a scream as I turned my head to face them, skin tearing on my forehead as it rubbed against strong bonds.
I saw him then, dapper as always, dressed immaculately in a fucking tweed suit complete with waistcoat and a very nice double Albert watch chain and understated fob, a silk tie, hair slightly unkempt in that posh boy, you utter twat kind of way. I let rip.
My arm vibrated like it was about to launch into space, my fingers tingled, it felt like I ground my teeth down to half their size, and I screamed as I fought the scrubbers.
Pain engulfed me as white energy streamed from my middle finger, a big fuck you to Carmichael, and the room erupted with the energy of one pissed off wizard. I was blinded, but heard a satisfying pop of a familiar sound, that of a head exploding like a watermelon dropped from a high rise, and then the magic died as the scrubbers won their battle. I was left empty, praying for the IV drip as the pain it induced was nothing compared to using magic and fighting the scrubbers.
The assistant slumped to the floor, head gone, just a stump of pulpy flesh and protruding spine. Carmichael was covered in blood, brain, and shards of bone. His hair was plastered flat, soaked through with the stuff that geysered for a moment then pulsed from the headless corpse. The stream died as she hit the side of my bed with a dull thwack.
"I warned her," I said, grinning at Carmichael as if that had been my plan all along.
"Fool," he muttered, and I don't know if he meant me or her.
"You're next, Carmichael," I shouted as he left.
Too late, he'd already gone.
The door closed with a thud that sounded way too final. Almost like the lid of a coffin slamming shut.
A Nasty Smell
The scrubbers went into overdrive, seemingly Carmichael not trusting them at their current setting. My magic not so much receded into the background, waiting for an opportunity to strike, force through the esoteric barrier, as said, "See ya," and hid somewhere I'd never find it.
I got the sneaking suspicion that was my one and only chance and I'd blown it.
Not long after, I jolted from a half-sleep as the door snicked closed. A woman's footsteps padded softly across the floor. I watched as a small blond lady righted the drip, hooked up a new bag, fixed a new needle, and did other medical things I found impossible to see, then fiddled about with my hand. Next thing I knew, I was losing clarity and the pain kicked in with a vengeance.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all, "but I have to up your dose. Don't try that again."
She left.
I screamed until my throat was raw. I may have done something gross, as the stink hit before I thankfully lost consciousness.
Waiting
"Fuck," I yelled, jolted awake by the sound of the world exploding, or imploding, or whatever the fuckety-fuck was happening.
My eyes tore open and I was greeted with white light, pain, the usual. Through blurred vision, I swear it looked like the ceiling was falling down, being torn away, or something.
A maelstrom of fresh air swept into the room, eddying and violent, bringing with it strange, musty smells of ancient books and barely contained magic. Chemical undertones, mixed with human scents of death and decay, plus a hint of winter freshness. Of grass and earth and above all, ancient dust. And one more thing I knew only too well.
Odor of wizard.
We all smell alike to some degree. We may use different aftershave and have our own somewhat distinct body odor, some more than others, but there's an unmistakable smell to all wizards. It's the power of the unknown, the stink of the void, a world-weary stench born of the knowledge that we're so puny and impossibly small and insignificant because we know the true secrets of the universe.
I smelled wizard.
More than that, I smelled two wizards in particular.
I must be dreaming, hallucinating. This couldn't be, no way.
But it looked like the ceiling had been ripped off, I thought I could smell fresh air, and it seemed like the scrubbers were no longer vibrating the ether and stopping magic wreaking its terrible, vengeful havoc.
"He stinks."
"You would too if you'd shit yourself."
"What should we do?"
"Guess we'll have to carry him."
"What, and get my robe all stinky?"
"Got any other ideas?"
"Yeah, hang on."
I heard heavy bootsteps then the sound of water flowing fast and hard. Next thing I knew, the air sang with powerful forces and my combats were torn away and my shirt disintegrated. Exposed, I shivered as fresh air caressed my naked flesh.
Then a bloody torrent of disinfectant-heavy water lashed my skin, pummeling me like a bloody big waterfall.
I shouted but to no avail, and as feeling came back to dead limbs and goosebumps rose on emaciated flesh, rough hands fiddled with bindings and then I was free.
"Turn him over, he's still messy."
"Okay, but hurry."
I was manhandled, protesting, onto my stomach then given what felt like a waterfall enema, which was in no way fun.
Then I was rolled back over, and I shook away th
e water from my eyes only to find myself staring into the smiling faces, what little could be seen beneath the beards and cowled heads, of Valera and Nohr, two longtime friends and very old, very odd wizards.
"Hey," I gasped,
"Wotcha, Arthur," said Valera, or was it Nohr?
"Sorry about the hosing, you pooed yourself."
"Don't remind him. It isn't dignified."
"I've got a spare robe if you want it?"
I nodded, unable to keep up with events.
The two tiny wizards held me roughly with thick, stained hands and sat me up. All was darkness for a moment as a rough, probably hemp knowing these two, thankfully oversized robe was dragged over my head. They grabbed my arms, stuffed them through the sleeves, then yanked it down over my body as I let them do whatever they could to cover me up.
"Can you stand?"
"I think so, but I'm weak. Been here for a day and a half."
They helped me move my legs to the side and I rested an arm around their shoulders then dropped to the floor. My feet were painful pins and needles, my stiff muscles shocked by the effort, but I didn't fall.
"Wand," I called, and I watched from the pile of filthy rags as they burned until Wand shot up, sigils bright.
The hose sprayed water in an impossibly tightly directed stream right at him; liquid ran off first brown then clear. He dove for me, incredibly fast, rubbed himself all over the robe to get dry then nestled in my hand like an extension of my self.
"You should be more hygienic," noted Wand.
"Yeah, I'll make a note of that for next time."
"Ready?" asked Valera.
"Ready," confirmed Nohr.
"For what?" I asked.
"That." Valera pointed at the wall, or what looked like it was a wall. Now it was a huge hole, and through it was another room much like this, and then several more, all with walls demolished, until I saw what looked like a familiar control room full of Hounds and staff beginning to stir.
The roof was off most of it, weak daylight streamed in through the dust, and grass could be seen on what roof was still intact.
So I was at the new underground bunker for the warehouse, a place I'd been once before. How long ago it seemed that I'd threatened Carmichael to stay away from me and mine. I should have killed him when I had the chance, when he'd lost the plot with the mad faery. Now? Now he deserved this and more.
But how? What was happening here?
Before I could ask, the guys grabbed me under my arms, magic flared, and we shot up through the destroyed roof and out into the open.
Sometimes wizards are awesome.
More Surprises
I don't know what I was expecting, I hadn't had time to expect much at all, and the robe of torturous itchy material was chafing so bad it was distracting, but what I saw was nonetheless a surprise.
The hillside was pockmarked with craters and giant holes where my buddies had clearly gone to town smashing through the roof of the buried stronghold in search of yours truly. Girders and steel reinforcing rods looked like the broken ribcage of an angry but defeated ancient robot warrior, the people down below like tiny, panicking ants after you smash their nest.
Grass smoldered, smoke clouded the air, the acrid tang of burned flesh carried on the wind.
I spied the trucks and vehicles belonging to Cerberus, many parked up by entrance bays that would no doubt lead to the warehouse, and a large car park for staff.
All of this I took in with a passing glance. I'd been here before, knew the layout, and what took my interest was the veritable horde of people already on the hillside.
Hounds were hurriedly trying to get into formation and figure out what to do, clearly waiting for orders. And then there were the others. Scores of indiscernible, innocuous looking people, bland and boring, regular hairstyles for the most part, mixed in with several flamboyant characters who reveled in what they were, their uniqueness. Most wore everyday clothes like suits, jeans, inexpensive skirts and blouses, just how citizens looked. But they weren't citizens, and they weren't happy.
"You brought vampires with you?" I asked.
"They arrived same time we did. Word got out about you being taken, and some dude named Tasius, and we formed a plan. Guess these new vamps wanted in on the action too. We spoke to Ivan, he wasn't happy about this guy arriving, or both of you being taken. But he wanted you rescued."
"Yeah, and your bird is hot, Arthur, you lucky devil." Nohr winked at me and leered. Once a dirty old man, always a dirty old man.
"I don't understand. How did you know to come?"
"We have our ways. We've known for ages where the new warehouse was. After all that business when we failed to get the goodies, when they moved everything, we knew you'd found out, knew you would, so we sent out feelers and found it too."
"But you didn't ask me?"
"We know you're a man of honor, assumed you made a deal with Carmichael after we heard what you'd done, what you took."
"You guys. Thank you, thank you so much."
"We've been wanting to do this for ages. Time's up for these bastards. This is it, Arthur, crunch time. We're gonna destroy them once and for all. You in?"
I paused to think. Was I? Was this it, the final confrontation? It would wreak havoc, cause many deaths, and we were just one small country, but it would be a warning to the other cells, the other Cerberus factions worldwide. Don't fuck with the Brits.
"I'm in."
"Good, because shit's about to go down." Nohr nodded at the Hounds bunched up in small groups, being shouted at by commanders.
The vampires remained motionless, merely watching. I spied Tasius surrounded by others like him. They stood out from the crowd because they didn't look quite like the others. They looked like vampires trying to look like citizens, not citizens who were actually vampires. And it wasn't working. They were old school, devout, and bloody dangerous.
Guess The Hat's peaceful honeymoon was well and truly over now.
One thing I couldn't figure out. Why had Carmichael done this in the first place? I'd stayed away, let them be. Would he never learn?
Gunfire cracked. The vampires jolted to life.
It was a massacre.
It Begins
You never get to see vampires in action, not true fighting. My encounters with them had been limited, the few fights I'd had were in confined spaces with less than adept undead, my tussle with the original deadfather excluded. These guys were different.
As the battalions of Hounds opened fire simultaneously, so the disparate groups of seemingly unorganized vampires about the rise all moved as one.
They were fast.
Think dodge a bullet, reflexes of a superhero fast. As weapons fired, the vampires were simply not there, the marks missed. Several got hit, sure, they weren't actual superheros, but most easily dodged the bullets and were upon the Hounds before they knew what bit them. The suited and booted personnel tasked with protecting Cerberus HQ and all it housed panicked, their reliance on equipment a serious oversight by the powers-that-be. Vampires ripped through the Kevlar, tore off helmets, heads and all in some cases, and the stronger ones, the real oldies, and mostly this was Tasius' crew, crushed weapons, or hands that contained weapons, melding bone and metal as Hounds screamed in agony and tried fruitlessly to organize.
Tasius hardly moved, just stood there same as I did with my buddies by my side, and watched the fight unfold. Vampires ravaged flesh, sank their teeth into exposed necks and juicy wrists, and they took if not their fill, then certainly got a nice taster.
This was something I'd never witnessed. Such wanton, unapologetic vampireness. They were unleashed, their usual reserve and ingrained desire to remain in the background, hidden and never exposed, gone, replaced with a brutal savagery I'd suspected many had inside, never quite understood how close to the surface it was. How base, animal, unfettered by normal human reserve or distaste for acting so beastly up close where it got very real and very bloody.
&
nbsp; Yet they reveled in the filth, in the blood and gore, and howled like the wild, unapologetic animals they surely were.
I finally understood what walked among us and how worrisome it was. If they wanted, they could destroy much of our world, take control and subjugate others from the supernatural underground, yet they never had, always remained aloof and silent. This was the truth of the matter, that they had an animal inside and when unleashed there was no stopping it.
It was a problem.
Carmichael must have known, he was a bloody vampire himself, something I kept forgetting yet should have always kept at the forefront of my mind. He was made when Mikalus was a young vampire, so was now one of the eldest, and yet he chose to capture one of his own, and that led to a very unsettling question.
Why?
He'd risked the vampire's wrath to take Tasius and me. What for? He would have good intel, would have known Tasius had brought his cronies with him, so why risk this bloodbath?
The Hounds that remained had formed a close group with weapons pointed outward, standing their ground as vampires circled, snarling and snapping, taunting them. They were scared but holding up well, their training showing, as all around them their comrades lay dead or dying, throats mangled, the skin torn like cheap cotton.
The whump, whump, whump of helicopters broke through the screams and I looked up to see three military behemoths breaching the rise and heading straight for us. They were heavily armed, men at the open doors with large machine guns, all goggled and intimidating.
They opened fire. Bullets sprayed in all directions as the pilots nosed down and got closer, sweeping across the already ruined land with heavy gauge weaponry that tore through sod and sprayed earth everywhere.
Under the cover, the Hounds retreated further, stopped by a large hole that led into the headquarters. The fire from above continued and then without warning, without a sign of communication, the vampires as a whole merely vanished. I could see them already off in the distance, juiced up to the eyeballs on blood, stronger than ever, but retreating when they knew the advantage was lost.
