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Authors: Brian Meehl

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Leaguer Mountain

While the fire truck made its way to New Jersey, Prowler got on his cell and called in the kind of favors you accumulate after forty years on the job. The first was to the district dispatcher, whose job was to know where all his fire vehicles were, and to know when one went missing. The calls the dispatcher received shortly thereafter, from the commander at the Great Jones Street firehouse and from Clancy reporting Prowler’s truck along with two dozen probies going AWOL, withered to silence on the dispatcher’s desk. The other call Prowler made was to an old smoke jumper buddy in the Air National Guard in Newburgh, New York. His buddy had access to, and the flying skills to commandeer, a C-5 cargo plane.

When they arrived at Newburgh’s Stewart Airport, there were two aircraft waiting for them: the C-5 that would fly the fire truck and the probies to Leaguer Mountain, and the Diamond Sky company jet that Penny
had sent to whisk Portia and Cody to Leaguer Mountain faster than the lumbering C-5.

After Portia had explained the situation to her mother, Penny had agreed to lend her the jet so she could chase Morning across the country on five conditions: (1) Portia and Cody were going as journalists, not combatants to singlehandedly save Morning and Rachel. (2) They were to get all the footage they could of Becky-Dell’s operation so, if it did turn into Leaguer Rubout Day, they could nail the Duchess of Doom. (3) Portia was to never forget that, while Morning and Rachel wore the armor of immortality and would suffer no permanent damage unless they were staked, ashed, and blown away, she and Cody were as vulnerable as balloons in a tornado of tacks. And (5) Portia was to do what all mothers insist their children do on a long trip: “Call home when you get there.”

Portia agreed to all of the above with the caveat that Leaguer Mountain might not have cell service since it was in the middle of the Sierra Nevadas. Of course, Penny wanted to go herself, but someone had to stay and be there when Zoë shook off her delirium, realized she was all vampire, and didn’t shriek so loud with joy that she alerted the U.S. marshal in the front hallway and got carted away.

While the departure scene at Stewart Airport was orderly and proceeded without a hitch, the scene at Leaguer Mountain was utter chaos.

For two days, Leaguers had been pouring into the cavernous interior of the mountain that had once housed the first Leaguer Academy, where vampires trained to become
Leaguers and take humans off the drink menu. For the majority of Leaguers carpeting the parade ground, the last time they had been there was graduation. But the grounds, surrounded by a horseshoe of buildings jutting from the mountain’s interior walls, didn’t resemble a festive class reunion. It looked like a concert turned ugly because the band hadn’t shown.

The only person on the towering platform once used for graduation ceremonies was an older woman, small and spry. Dolly had once worked the Vegan Veins station in the academy’s quaffeteria and had kept Morning supplied with Blood Lite during his school days there. After American Out Day, and the academy’s move to its new location, Dolly had stayed on as the old academy’s caretaker, and to look after Birnam as he began to age.

Despite having a bullhorn, Dolly was hoarse from trying to persuade the mass of Leaguers to remain calm and to please not trample the flower beds she had carefully tended after she had retooled the streetlights to grow-lights. She was also hoarse from repeatedly answering the same questions. “No, nobody told me you were coming.” “No, there’s no other Leaguer Mountain, especially one that’s hollow!”

Even though Dolly had been in a news blackout since Birnam had left, her uninvited guests had caught her up on the dramatic events that had led to her home being flooded with Leaguers. Most shocking of all was that her blood-intolerant friend Morning McCobb had chucked his bottle of Blood Lite for a mini-keg of Zoë Zotz.

As Dolly was about to yell at a teenage Leaguer Hacky Sacking his way through one of her petunia beds, a pigeon flew toward the platform and landed on the railing next to
her. The pigeon flapped its wings and burst into Morning McCobb, sheathed in slightly torn Epidex.

Morning had flown to Leaguer Mountain in record time for a pigeon, but not because he was a super-fast flier. After dropping the miniature paper scroll in Portia’s apartment and sneaking back into St. Giles to fetch his Epidex, he had flown to LaGuardia Airport, stowed away in the luggage compartment of a direct flight to Las Vegas, and then bird-winged it from there.

Dolly beamed at the sight of Morning, until she remembered he was to blame for the massive home invasion trampling her flower beds. Her delight pinched to reproach. “Well, if it isn’t the boy who couldn’t keep his deuce out of the juice.”

Morning didn’t get the chance to plead his case, since the huge crowd recognized him and began to jeer and throw whatever they had at the vampire who had turned their Leaguer dreams into the nightmare of deportation.

He took the bullhorn from Dolly and tried to be heard. “It was DeThanatos who turned Zoë, but I’m not here to prove my innocence!”

His claim was answered with a volley of blood-drink bottles and key rings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Morning noticed someone scaling the platform. He figured he’d better talk fast before he was pulled off the platform, then drawn and quartered by the first four Leaguers who could CD into horses. “We haven’t been ordered here for deportation. We’ve been sent here for destruction!”

“Yeah, yours!” someone shouted as Morning felt the vibration of the climber hit the platform. He spun around to confront his attacker. He was startled to see Rachel.

“Gimme the horn,” she said, joining him at the rail.

“You’re okay?”

“Better, but warfarin kicks the crap outta you till you can get enough blood to heal your innards.” She took the bullhorn and the crowd settled to a rumble. “It’s true, Morning was set up. It was
DeThanatos
who turned Zoë.” The rumble dropped to an incredulous drone. “We can prove it later, but for now you gotta give ’im a listen.” She handed the bullhorn back to Morning.

The Leaguers quieted.

“The reason there’s no Lifers here to receive us or implant us with tracking devices is because this mountain is about to be attacked.” The rumble started again. “The most important thing is to not panic. We need to calmly walk or fly out of the mountain and get away from here as fast as possible.”

Someone shouted, “Where are we supposed to go?”

“Canada or Mexico,” Morning answered. “But we need to leave now.”

“Why should we believe you?” another voice shouted, followed by yet another. “If we disobey martial law, they’re gonna hunt us down like Loners!”

He waited for the outburst to die down. “If you don’t leave, then get ready to fight for your lives. We’re not only up against Becky-Dell. We’re up against DeThanatos.”

“He can’t slay us by himself!” someone protested.

“He doesn’t have to,” Morning countered. “Not when he’s bought up all the hawthorn he could get his hands on, and turned it into ammo for Lifers.”

It went so silent you could have heard Dolly pick a petunia.

Rachel, looking ashen, stared at him. “Is that true?”

Morning nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”

She grabbed the bullhorn. “As president of the IVL, I order you to evacuate—”

An explosion ripped through the side of the mountain. A cascade of rock and dirt showered buildings and spewed out over the parade ground. The multitude screamed as they turned like a giant school of fish and ran for the one small exit at the base of the mountain.

66
Stun, Stake, ’N’ Bake

While Rachel beseeched the Leaguers not to panic, Morning and Dolly watched the dust and smoke clear from the ragged hole blown in the mountainside. Ropes unfurled through the hole like the legs of a giant squid. Commandos slid down the ropes, firing automatic weapons as they came. Leaguers fell in the blaze of warfarin bullets.

In the tunnel leading out of the mountain, some were lucky enough to have gotten a jump and not been caught in the crush of Leaguers that clogged the tunnel behind them. Others who had already CDed into flying birds rushed toward the one metal door that sealed the entrance and exit to the mountain. This rush of Leaguers ran out of luck when they reached the phalanx of commandos blocking the door. They were met by a red-hot swarm of warfarin bullets.

Back in the rocky dome, the stream of commandos pouring through the hole had ceased, but they continued
disabling hundreds of vampires in a rain of warfarin. The crackling gunfire and the screaming were drowned out by more explosions hitting the breach in the mountain.

Morning, Rachel, and Dolly, now running toward the old administration building, turned to see dust and smoke mushroom around the hole as the first of several Blackhawk attack helicopters shot into the mountain like angry wasps. More ropes uncoiled from the choppers, followed by commandos rappelling down them. They shouldered bulky weapons. One of the soldiers stepped up to a vampire on the ground and fired a stake into his chest. The vampire thrashed like a live bug impaled by a pin.

The Blackhawks wheeled, strafing the parade ground with a hail of bullets.

Outside the mountain, a big command chopper hovered in the darkness. In the glow of the cockpit, Becky-Dell and DeThanatos stood behind the pilots and watched the attack. They both shared the same look of supreme satisfaction. So far, Operation Stun, Stake, ’n’ Bake was going flawlessly.

A voice crackled in Becky-Dell’s headset. “Fighters in final approach.”

She answered into her headset. “Gentlemen, pop a couple more corks.”

Within seconds, two more explosions ripped into the mountain, followed by the roar of two fighter jets blasting overhead. When the dust cleared, three gaping holes ringed the mountain. If giants roamed the earth, one of them could have picked the mountain up like a bowling ball.

Becky-Dell got back on her headset. “Stun and stake well under way. Cozy up, bakers, and stand by.”

From the starlit darkness, three squadrons of helicopters emerged. Each squadron was led by a V-formation of napalm-armed gunships. Within each V was a Chinook helicopter, laboring under the weight of two giant buckets sloshing with combustible fuel. They were called bambi buckets because they were usually loaded with water or fire retardants to save the Bambis of the forest.

DeThanatos grinned at the sight of so much firepower. He turned to his partner in apocalypse and voiced his pleasure. “Why barbecue when you can incinerate?”

On the ground, under the cover of darkness, an old Jeep with its lights off cut through the desert valley of sagebrush and greasewood. While Cody drove and hit the speed dial on Portia’s cell phone to her house, Portia filmed the attack on Leaguer Mountain through the windshield.

“No service,” Cody said, braking the Jeep to a stop.

“Hey, Mom, can’t say we didn’t try.” Portia jumped out of the passenger side and kept filming. Sure, it was just a wide master shot in the middle of the night, but between the flashes of explosions and the chopper spotlights hitting the mountain, the assault was more than visible. She handed the camera to Cody, told him to keep shooting, then went to the Jeep and dug out a flashlight.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she started walking through the brush, toward the mountain.

“Morning’s in there.”

“But you promised your mom not to go into G.I. Jane rescue mode.”

She kept walking. “Three and a half outta five ain’t bad.”

“There’s a half?” Cody shouted.

“Yeah,” she threw back, “we
tried
to call home.”

Portia kept the flashlight off as she moved through the brush. It was for an emergency only. Between the stars and the light-spill from the hovering choppers, she could see well enough to navigate and maybe even spot a startled rattlesnake. She reassured herself that rattlesnakes supposedly gave a warning rattle before they struck.

She was so focused on the ground she didn’t see the sign sticking up from the brush until she ran smack into it. Bouncing off it, she cursed, flicked on the flashlight and read the metal sign. Her eyes widened. “Oh, sh——.”

67

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