Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

blinked, Brunner flashed down the hall and soared through the doorway in a spectral blur. He ran after to join the pursuit.

  The Nazis were in full flight now, throwing down cookware and appliances as they shrieked out the kitchen exit. The immortals pursued hotly, getting tangled in the subsequent debris the Nazis jumbled to cover their tracks. When they finally reached the back door, the undead vanished down the back alley. Around the corners of the clustered colonial buildings, a chorus of engines revved on, followed promptly by the high pitched rub of spinning tires.

  Another Hill At The Same Price

  Will jetted back to the main hallway, and dropped to his knees next to Vivienne. He scooped her up and tore the binding from her wrists. She curled up in his lap and melted into his body. She wept pitifully, soaking his shirt with tears.

  Her skin felt dry and ashy, her torso brittle and boney. Vivienne’s little fingers clutched Will’s shirt as the tears continued to cascade down her cheeks. In the darkness and beneath her mop of unkempt hair, her condition was unknown. Will could only begin to diagnose her state from the lightness of her body and speech. Were it not for her quivering, he would barely have known she was alive. Finally, her hands wiped the water from her face and her big eyes flicked open at him.

  “It’s you,” Vivie’s weak voice croaked out.

  Will nodded, but grimaced when he saw how sallow her face was under the lights from the street side windows. A skeletal Vivienne materialized. Will brushed back the hair from her mouth to alleviate her hyperventilation.

  “Vivienne!” Jefferson cried as he and the Generals returned to the hallway.

  “Thomas!” Vivienne cried out.

  Jefferson dashed over and dropped to the floor beside her. She wobbled out of Will’s arms and fell on the President for support.

  “I told them everything,” Vivienne sobbed. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “It’s alright,” Jefferson consoled her.

  “They have my father,” Vivienne squealed. “They will kill him if they have the Grail!”

  Wayne leaned over and took her hand, “Where are they?”

  Vivienne rattled, “I don’t know, up the river somewhere in an old mansion. East Falls, Mt. Airy, Germantown. I’m not sure.”

  “Germantown,” Washington concluded.

  Greene butted in, “Just like you said before. Will, what’s the fastest way there?”

  “Up Kelly Drive and over to Germantown Avenue,” said Will.

  “We’ve got to get after them before they leave the city,” Washington commanded. “Will, you’re with me. Tom, get Vivienne out of here now. The police can’t be far away. Wayne, Greene, take 76 across the river and head south from Chestnut Hill. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  “You know where that is,” Wayne grumbled.

  “Cliveden House,” Greene groaned.

  “Hurry,” Vivienne pleaded. “They were preparing to leave.”

  Jefferson cradled Vivienne in his arms and hauled her up. She strained the whole way, wincing with lashes of sharp pain. Washington grabbed Will by the shoulder, and all six of them rushed into the kitchen and out the back door.

  The broken glass and porcelain that the vampires left in their wake led a trail straight through the restaurant’s patio and back yard. Shattered bottles of every size were strewn across the bricks and soil behind the tavern. The refuse confounded Greene and Wayne who scanned the wreckage. Both cursed openly at the thought that the Grail lay smashed on the ground somewhere. Washington, however, pressed forward without the slightest glance.

  Past the porch columns, underneath a festive canopy erected for the al fresco season, and around discarded deck chairs the immortals raced after the undead burglars. They bumbled past the obstructions and made for the side gate. They collected in the alley, which was shrouded by low trees and enclosed by an ancient wall.

  “Tom, head down that way towards the bank and the old merchant’s exchange. Catch the first taxi to my hotel. Call Martha to come meet you,” Washington ordered.

  Vivienne was hushed now, limp as she dangled in Jefferson’s arms. He jostled her, which elicited a woeful peep. With a firm nod, he acknowledged Washington and jogged down the cobblestone path to the empty pedestrian zone that surrounded the country’s earliest federal financial institutions. Will and the Generals then headed off in the opposite direction.

  The narrow passage emptied into the street in front of the building. On the other side of the wall was a parking lot where they had left their cars. They breached the lot just as the last van bounded through the exit on to 2nd Street. It whipped around, listing heavily on its axles, and sped into the sparsely driven Society Hill neighborhood.

  Undeterred by the Nazis that careened past them, the Americans rushed into the lot. Seeing Washington’s truck lights flash, Will made for the passenger side. The two men sprang through the doors and slammed them closed in unison. Greene and Wayne dove into the luxury sedan next to the truck and both engines exploded into gear.

  The force with which the truck tilted on its way out of the lot nearly sent Will spiraling across the cab. Fortunately, his seatbelt caught him as he clicked it in place just as Washington spun the wheel. The truck belched a pocket of fiery exhaust. Its tires spun, lurched and dug into the asphalt on its way towards the intersection. In the brief moment between a yellow and red light, the surging pistons dragged them through to the next thoroughfare.

  In the side-view mirrors, Greene and Wayne’s ride fishtailed beneath the stop signal. The prints of their treads were tattooed on the road as they swerved into the perpendicular lane. As the truck’s transmission choked on power, Greene’s engine hummed off like a swarm of bees and disappeared en route to the highway.

  On their own again, they roared into the residential district. Rounding a corner a couple blocks ahead was a set of familiar taillights. Maintaining speed and course, they barreled after. Will clutched the bar above his head as Washington took the bend without braking.

  Convinced that they had found their mark, though it was a solitary one, Washington let off the accelerator to match the van’s pace. Both slowed to an unassuming stride on the peaceful street. Measuring the area’s absence of movement, the General calculated a steady distance. They and their prey traversed the road alone. He and Will vigilantly utilized their towering vantage point above the massive hauler’s elevated suspension. Still two blocks ahead, the other vehicle moved purposefully. It adhered to every sign and signal as it progressed. The immortal followed suit, but didn’t lose his perturbed tension on the steering.

  The surrounding ambience was tended as precisely as when Washington first beheld the inviting passage from horseback. Homes of his vintage stood close to the road. Colorful shutters, sturdy plank doors, reflective white trim, black veined marble landings fenced by iron spikes and overcrowded flower boxes were just beyond the reach of the mechanical giant.

  Washington halted at a light with his eye trained ahead. The van continued to roll on, but no other car severed the space between the two. Just as expected, however, the blare of sirens erupted nearby. As they waited at the light the sound intensified. Within seconds a trio of police cars blazed through the intersection in the direction of the tavern. Seemingly uninterested by the presence of the truck, the cruisers increased speed towards the landmark. Will shared a look of relief with his driver.

  The now distant van was out of the condensed rows of homesteads and navigating the hospital campuses on its approach to Broad Street. It was separated by stubby box trailers and ambulances that flowed in and out of the emergency wards’ delivery ports. Cars and taxis built up a defensive cushion between the escaping vampires and their pursuers. Washington stoked the cylinders and revved up the chase.

  Seeing the van turn on to the city’s central artery, they lost sight of the Nazis. The resulting surge of fuel pinned Will in his seat. Washington edged out a line of sluggish economy sized obstacles. He buzzed uncomfortably close to the protestation of the other d
rivers. More service vehicles emerged from the driveways of the buildings. Each greeted him with its horn as he maneuvered past. Unapologetic and unrestrained, he rumbled out on to Broad Street.

  Everywhere, brake lights blinked. Despite the hour, the chaotic traffic spinning around City Hall was vigorous. Larger trucks, buses, SUVS and more vans identical to the one they sought cut each other off in an intricate dance of impatience. The confusion, which was evident in Washington’s snarl, provoked the same behavior. Back on offense, he attacked with illegal charges at oblivious pedestrians and unsynchronized lights. His reckless disregard for cross traffic began to unseat Will. The wail of more sirens heightened their mutual angst and Will’s blood pressure.

  What looked like their target appeared ahead. A van suddenly started to quicken and weave around a procession of public transit. As soon as they spotted it, the herd of mass transportation swallowed it again.

  Washington followed the stream up to the junction at City Hall. Ignoring the pleas of attempted lane changers before the one way course, he wound around the municipal castle. The truck’s wide orbit rattled the smaller cars who gave it a generous berth. It muscled through, and arrived at the vast Ben Franklin Parkway with a burst from the tailpipe. The voracious truck chomped at the pavement. Will rocked with the bulky cabin as Washington tested the limits