F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 (57 page)

 
          
High
explosive? Had she wired herself to explode? He wanted to ask but the words
wouldn't come.

 
          
"Just
take the two wires ..." Carole was saying.

 
          
He
watched Artemis reach up and take a wire in each hand.

 
          
"...
and touch them—"

 
          
"Fuck
you all!" Artemis cried as he jammed the two wires together.

 
          
Joe
managed to raise a leaden arm across his eyes and fall back—

 
          
—but
nothing happened.

 
          
Carole
looked down at Artemis, her expression a mask of dismay.

 
          
"You
didn't let me finish." She held up a battery. "You touch the wires to
opposite ends of this." She shook her head. "Your kind simply don't
understand mercy or compassion, do you."

 
          
"Damn
right they don't," Lacey said.

 
          
Joe
saw that she held the maul and a stake in her hands. Before Artemis could react,
she jabbed the point over his heart and slammed it home with two quick, hard
strikes.

 
          
The
vampire arched his back, shuddered, then crumpled.

 
          
Lacey
pulled the explosive stick from behind Artemis's neck and handed it back to
Carole. "They don't deserve a break. Any of them."

 
          
Joe
was still half sitting, half lying on the floor. He tried to rise but hadn't
the strength. He felt as if someone had pulled the plug on his energy.

 
          
"Something's
wrong," he croaked. "I can barely move."

 
          
Carole
looked at her watch. "Dear Lord! It's past your time!"

 
          
Joe
fought the lethargy stealing through him. Too tired to worry. It was all he
could do to hold his head up.

 
          
The
world around him became a blur. He was dimly aware of voices mentioning
"back door" and "employee entrance" and "bring the car
around." He felt himself dragged-carried outside into a shady area that
was still blindingly bright, then lifted and folded into a small space ... a
slam that sounded like a car trunk lid, then darkness.. . blessed darkness.

 
          
JOE
. . .

 
          
"Carole
... are you all right?"

 
          
Joe
had awakened to find the two slugs he'd taken in the Post Office scattered
around him on his mattress. He didn't know how, but his body had extruded them
during daysleep.

 
          
Then
he'd fed—God, how he hated the word, the concept, the act. It made him feel
like some sort of jungle animal; he would never get used to it. The women had
decided to alternate, so Lacey had been the donor this time. The sun was just
about down, and the three of them had taken their usual positions around the
coffee table.

 
          
But
Joe had noticed that Carole seemed withdrawn. She looked tired, but he sensed
it was more than that.

 
          
"I'm
okay" Carole said without looking at him.

 
          
Lacey
said, "She's been like this all day." This earned her a brief glare
from Carol. "Well it's true. You barely said two words to me before we
went to sleep, and maybe half a dozen since we woke up."

 
          
"Didn't
you sleep well?" Joe said.

 
          
"As
a matter of fact, no," Carole said.

 
          
"Bad
dreams?"

 
          
"In
a way." She looked up, first at Joe, then at Lacey. "Are we proud of
ourselves?"

 
          
"About
what?" Joe said.

 
          
"About
this morning."

 
          
"Yeah,"
Lacey said. "We reduced the world's undead population by eight and we
learned something that could turn this fight around: kill one of the big-shot
undead and a whole lot of others die too."

 
          
Carole
said, "What about how we learned that secret?"

 
          
Lacey
shook her head. "I'm not following."

 
          
Carole
sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Torture. Am I the only one who's
bothered by the fact that we tortured that creature into giving us the
information?"

 
          
"Yeah,"
Lacey said with an edge on her voice. Joe could sense his niece's back rising.
"I guess you could say you are. They're already dead, Carole."

 
          
"No,
they're undead. And they very obviously feel pain."

 
          
"Hang
on now," Joe said. He caught Carole's troubled gaze and held it. "We
did what we had to, Carole. I didn't like it, and I'm sure Lacey didn't either,
but this is war and—"

 
          
"A
war for what?"

 
          
"For
survival," Lacey said. "Them or us. This isn't a war of ideologies,
Carole," Lacey said. "And it's not a war of religions either. This is
a war for the survival of the human race."

 
          
"Even
if we have to sacrifice our humanity to win it?"

 
          
Joe
leaned back and kept silent. This wasn't what he'd wanted to talk to Carole
about, but he sensed this argument had been brewing all day, maybe longer. Best
to stay out of the line of fire unless it escalated too far.

 
          
"Ever
hear of the Spanish Inquisition, Carole?" Lacey said. "That was
'humanity' at its most creative. We invented torture."

 
          
"You
sound proud of it."

 
          
"Not
at all. I look at a picture of a rack or an Iron Maiden and my stomach turns.
My point is that we, as the living, don't exactly have clean hands when it
comes to depravity."

 
          
"I'm
not worried about humanity's hands," Carole said sofdy. "I'm worried
about ours—the three of us. I'd like to believe that we deserve to win. But if
in the process we become like the enemy, what have we won?"

 
          
"The
right to survive!"

 
          
"Is
that all you want?"

 
          
"No!"
Lacey shot to her feet and pounded the table. "I want more! I want to see
every single one of those bloodsucking parasites dead and rotting in the sun!
They robbed me of the person I loved more than anyone in my life, they took my
parents—maybe I was on rotten terms with them, and maybe I'll always be pissed
at them for naming me Lacey, but they were still my parents—and then they took
one of the few men in the world that I love and respect and tried to turn him
into a monster like them. I want them gone,

 
          
Carole,
I want them wiped off the face of the earth, and I want them to go screaming in
agony, and I'm for doing whatever it takes to achieve that!" Her voice
broke and tears streamed down her cheeks as she pounded the table with each
word. "Whatever—it—takes!"

 
          
Joe
rose, put an arm around Lacey's shoulders, and let her lean against him. Time
to make peace.

 
          
"I'm
okay," she said.

 
          
"No,
you're not. None of us has been okay since the invasion. We're all damaged to
varying degrees, but we all want the same thing. Carole has a valid point. We
need to win—we must win—but maybe there should be a line we won't cross in
order to win. I think we may have crossed that line at the Post Office."

 
          
He
felt Lacey stiffen and shake her head. "No lines, no limits, no quarter,
no mercy."

 
          
Joe
tightened his grip on his niece's shoulders. How was he going to salvage this?

 
          
"Can
we leave it that we agree to disagree and hope we don't have to cross the line
again—hope that we don't find ourselves in a position where we even have to
think about crossing it?"

 
          
But
if that moment came, Joe wondered, what side of that line would he come down
on?

 
          
Lacey
shrugged, reluctantly, he thought. "I guess I'm all right with that."

 
          
Carole
nodded. "So am I. I pray we're never faced with that choice again."

 
          
"Good,"
Joe said, sagging with relief. "You two had me worried there."

 
          
"What?"
Lacey said, looking up at him with a half-smile playing about her lips.
"You thought we'd break up the team? Never happen. Right, Carole?"

 
          
"Never.
Our work is too important. But I thought it needed an airing."

 
          
"Well,
it's aired," Joe said. "Now let me air something else." He sat
and took Carole's hands in his. "How long have you been wiring yourself
with explosives?"

 
          
She
looked away. "A while."

 
          
"Why?"

 
          
"I
think that should be obvious."

 
          
It
was. But for Joe it was unthinkable.

 
          
"Carole,
you mustn't. . . you can't..."

 
          
"I
won't," she said. "Not unless all hope is gone."

 
          
"Even
then—"

 
          
She
faced him. "I will not become one of them, Joseph. And didn't you tell us
yourself that you jumped off the Empire State Building?"

 
          
Yes,
he had, hadn't he. He wished he hadn't told them. It cut off his argument at
the knees. What could he say—that it was all right for him but not for her?

 
          
"But
blowing yourself up ..."

 
          
The
thought of Carole being torn to pieces, bits of her splattered against the
walls and ceiling of a room, or scattered up and down a street, sickened him.

 
          
Her
smile was tremulous. "What better way to go? I put my hand in my pocket, I
press a button, and it's over—instantaneous, painless, and, considering the
straits I'll be in at that moment, I'll probably take a few of the enemy with
me."

 
          
"I
kind of like that idea," Lacey said. "Maybe you can wire me and—"

 
          
Joe
held up a hand. "Lacey, please." He stared at Carole. "All
right. What can I say? It's something only you can decide, Carole. But I beg
you, when things look blackest, when you think there's no way out and the
situation can't get worse, hold off pressing that button. Give it just one more
minute."

 
          
"Why?"

 
          
"Because
I don't want to lose you. And who knows? Maybe in that one extra minute the
situation will start to turn around. Promise?"

 
          
She
shrugged. "Promise."

 
          
Joe
leaned back. He'd thought he'd feel better confronting her about this, but he
didn't.

 
          
He
put it behind him for now and looked first at Lacey, then Carole.

 
          
"All
right. That's settled—I hope. Now we should plan our next step. When do we
leave for New York?"

 
          
Lacey
dropped back into her seat. "New York? So soon? Are we ready for
that?"

 
          
"I
don't think we have much choice," Joe said. He got up and settled himself
on the couch. "First off, I don't think there's another nest we can
practice on. Second, after what we did this morning, I've got a feeling this
area's going to be on the receiving end of a lot of attention. So while they're
looking this way, gearing up to make a move against the church and the people
holding it, I propose we sneak in under their radar and strike where they least
expect it."

 
          
Carole
was nodding. "I like it. And from the way things went this morning,

 
          
I
believe dawn is the best time. But I assume we'll find more than three
collaborators guarding the
Empire
State
Building
."

 
          
"Lots
more," Joe said. He glanced at his niece. "Too many for even Annie
Oakley here to take out."

 
          
Lacey
smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that."

 
          
She
got up and went to the dining area. She returned dragging a large canvas mail
sack. She set it beside the couch and pulled open the top. Joe started when he
saw the jumble of weapons inside.

 
          
"Good
Lord, Lacey, what did you do? Rob an armory?"

 
          
"Almost
as good. Before we left the Post Office this morning I collected every pistol
and piece of ammo I could find, from Vichy and undead alike. Even picked up
that sawed-off shotgun."

 
          
Joe
shook his head. "It's still not enough. We're only three and there's
dozens of them. We'll need another way."

 
          
Lacey
looked at Carole. "Explosives? That napalm you cooked up?"

 
          
Carole
shook her head. "Nothing I can make has the detonation velocity necessary
to damage a building like the
Empire
State
."