Vampires (28 page)

And his strong young body slumped lifeless to the floor.

Felix was still staring, wide-mouthed and unbelieving, at his dead comrade when something crashed hissing and snapping into him from the blind side. They went careening over sideways into a side table and Felix heard the table legs splinter and crack and he ended up propped against the tilted tabletop but these were only minor distant details beside the spitting decay smell of the ghoul grabbing and hissing at him and Felix managed to twist about and jam his left hand into the throat under those snapping jaws and then he was eye to bloody eye with the monster and...

Those eyes burned red and primal and they wanted him. Those slick gooey fangs snapped for him. And he began to lose his grip as the gray skin at the zombie's throat slid away under his fingers and the hissing increased and the monster had him by both sides of the head and it leaned hard down to reach him, his throat or his cheek or his eyes and the pupils were almost sideways with some impossible glint.

Supernatural, Jack Crow had told him.

And the gunman wrenched his pistol under the monster's chin and emptied it.

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM

The monster warped and howled with each impact, spitting black decay and pain, but it still held him and those claws on either side of his head jerked with his pain and cracked the gunman's head like a thunderclap against the tabletop and Felix... lost it.

The concussion, the impact.. . Am I dead? he wondered, as all became fuzzy and indistinct and the shattering sounds and shrieks of battle faded down.

Or just dying? Or knocked out or...

The black man lay a few feet from him, twitching and shivering. Not dead, but not coming.

And the vaguely conscious part of Felix thought this was very good.

And then he thought he should maybe find his gun and:

Here it is, in my hand.

And then he reached around and got a new clip-he knew how to do that. He knew how to change clips and he did and then he held the newly loaded gun in his lap and felt very proud and he felt the blood from his head injury flowing down his neck and he saw the other monsters had come to also, understood that they had been only temporarily stunned by the silver bullets.

And by God's House.

The bishop is dead, thought Felix.

Kirk Thompson is dead too, he thought next.

Soon I will die, too, won't I?

But I still have my gun and what I will do is: I will shoot them when they come near me and it will not stop them but it will hurt them and that is better than nothing and.

And so he lay there, stunned, against the overturned table, and watched them come for him.

And saw Jack Crow save what was left.

He saw it from a long way off, it seemed, as though Jack and the monsters and even the rest of the building, were far, far away. But he still saw it. And what he saw, even from the end of his conked tunnel, was amazing. Jack Crow did things Felix couldn't imagine being done. He did things no one else but Jack Crow, Crusader, by God, Jack Crow, could have done.

He was everywhere at once. And had to be. The other goons had arisen at the same time as the black man at Felix's feet, and though they were slow and ponderous and unthinking, there were too many of them. And they were so hungry, reaching for him, lunging at him, grisly fingers grasping and clawing and- And Jack Crow bashed 'em back. He emptied his crossbow and emptied his pistol and grabbed up a handful of pikes and laid into them. He bashed them, he spitted them, be carved them with splintered ends. There was no one else:

Adam guarded the women in the entry hail. Cat was out bringing up the Blazer. Felix lay almost comatose against the shattered table. For the next few crucial minutes there would be no one else to hold them off but Jack alone.

And Jack didn't seem to give a shit. He went after them with a ferocity that Felix, even stunned as be was, could hardly believe. It was like some sort of grotesque juggling act. Jack would slam two of them down somehow, but by that time two more would have arisen again, spitting and hissing and reaching for him. And he would slam them down again, spear them with the pikes or shoot them through their faces or once, just flat bust them in the mouth with his fist.

He's incredible, thought Felix. He's bigger than life.

And then he thought: I've got to get up! I've got to do something!

But then Jack was there, beside him, speaking softly but quickly: “C'mon, buddy. We've gotta move. C'mon!”

And then be turned and kicked the black man full in the face, the one with nine silver bullets in him, who had only now started to rise again.

“C'mon, Gunman,” said Jack, lifting him with surprising gentleness, to his feet.

Pain seared through Felix's skull when his head came loose from the table and he saw Jack wince in sympathy but they didn't stop, they got Felix up and they got him moving and the pain began to clear his head and then they were in the entry hail and the women were there, Annabelle and Davette, huddled together against a wall and dammit if Annabelle didn't manage a smile for them.

And then Jack and Adam were closing the huge sliding oak doors to the living room and dragging some antique side table across the marble to barricade it. The other doors were already closed with other furniture stacked against them. Only the massive front door, standing open to the returning rain, was free.

“Your head,” said a small voice.

Felix turned and saw Davette, her hand frozen in midair where she had started to reach for his wound.

“I'm all right,” Felix managed to say.

And she nodded vaguely and stepped back to Annabelle and Felix thought: Move, Felix! Wake up!

And he shook his head for more pain and gritted his teeth and looked down at the Browning still in his hand and...

And it helped. Some.

“Where's Cat?” Jack wanted to know.

Father Adam shook his head. "Haven't seen him. Do you think...

Jack was at 'the front door, looking warily out into the night.

“Do I think what?” he barked.

Adam swallowed. "We haven't seen any masters. Maybe they couldn't come in here. Maybe they're..

And he gestured out the door.

“Oh, shit!” sighed Jack.

And the dead grasping hands began scratching at the sliding oak doors.

Jack looked at the doors, saw them start to lean inward with the weight and thirst of the dead.

"Well, we can't stay here. Maybe. .

Bright headlights framed the door and there was a loud crunching noise as Cat vaulted the Blazer up the front steps and came to a skidding stop on the wide front landing of the great home.

“Whenever ya'all are ready!” he shouted through the driver's window.

Jack herded everyone out and the Blazer doors were yanked open. Jack took the wheel. Annabelle sat in the passenger seat beside him. Felix sat in the back seat behind her, gun in hand.

And that's where he was when they bounced down the steps and over the curb and onto the street and were racing half a block away and a streak of movement appeared from the right and something slammed into the side of the Blazer and breaking glass slashed through the interior and the Blazer tilted up crazily on two wheels before bouncing back down on all four wheels, skidding wildly on the slick pavement, side-swiping a parked car and coming to a stop in the middle of the road.

The grasping talons through Annabelle's shattered passenger window finally woke Felix up. He lunged over the front seat and jammed the automatic into the Young Master's face and jerked the trigger three times.

The monster's face disappeared back out through the window and then reappeared, hissing and spitting and shivering, two holes in its moon-pale skin, the clear blood pulsing out with the black spitting mucus from the mouth and...

And Jack tried to move the Blazer but the engine had stalled and then it wouldn't start in Drive, so he had to work the gearshift and...

And the fiend lunged back at them, back at Felix, the source of his pain, and Felix fired again and again and the head snapped back once more but...

But one of the talons still grasped the edge of the doorway and the whole damned Blazer shook with the monster's pain and fury and Felix leaned way out over Annabelle's seat and out the window and twisted his body around and saw the monster, hunched against the side of the vehicle, and it looked up at him, hissed and spat at him, and Felix shot it through the right eye and it vaulted back and lost its grip on the Blazer.

The engine roared to life, Jack tromped on the gas pedal, and they were off.

They could see the creature through the back windows jerking itself to its feet in the middle of the road. Felix, still hanging halfway out the window, managed to shoot one more time.

The Blazer didn't slow for several blocks while Felix clambered past everyone to the rear of the truck bed to be ready to shoot again. But nothing came. No monster sprinted after them through the rain.

“Relax, Jack!” called Felix at last from the rear. “No one's coming.”

But Jack kept his foot down hard.

“Where are you going?” yelled Felix, irritated by the careening car.

“Hospital,” said Crow without turning around.

And Adam took Felix by the arm and pointed. He looked where he was told and saw her, saw Annabelle, slumped across the Blazer's console. Cat was frantically dabbing at her throat with a shirt. But the blood, from a dozen wounds of exploded safety glass, poured thick across her still features.

“She cannot be moved.”

Jack was getting angry. “Look, doctor, I'm not sure you know what's-”

But Cat grabbed his boss's arm.

“Jack! Goddammit! He's not just saying he's against it! He's saying she'll die! Annabelle will die!”

Crow looked darkly at the two of them, then shrugged the hand off his arm and stepped away down the hail. The three policemen eyed him suspiciously but made no move. Jack had called in every chit and favor he had with the Dallas Police to keep from being arrested, even for questioning. But nobody had actually told the patrolmen just exactly why these heavily armed and obviously fresh-from-violence people weren't to be touched. And they were wary.

“Dainmit!” muttered Jack and looked at his watch. “Dammit!” he repeated when he saw the time.

Because they had already been here all night and most of the day. Because it was three o'clock in the afternoon. How many more hours until sunset?

Until night?

Until they came?

“Mr. Crow,” the doctor tried again, “it's not just a matter of blood loss. It's the trauma to the system. Her signs are very low, her heart has fluttered, she has a concussion, she-”

“Hell, doctor, she's awake, for chrissakes!”

The doctor remained calm. He nodded. “Sometimes. Barely. She's a strong woman. But she's not strong enough to leave intensive care. Not for at least one more day. She must have constant monitoring. She must have the IVs. She must stay here.”

He stepped forward and said, more gently, “Don't worry, Mr. Crow. We'll take good care of her. She'll be fine.”

Jack Crow looked at the man and knew he meant it and knew he didn't know what he was dealing with and he knew something else: there was no way the Team could ever convince him otherwise in time.

Felix had been leaning against the corridor wail with hi. arms crossed in front of his chest, looking sinister with his bandaged head over the even dozen stitches they had had to give him. He uncrossed his arms and stepped away from the wail.

“Is there a place.., a room, where we could talk?” he asked.

The doctor eyed him gratefully and led them around a corner to a small anteroom that, judging from the cigarette smoke, served as the break area for the Emergency Room staff. It had a couple of tables covered with soggy cardboard coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays, some plastic chairs, a vending machine, a pay phone.

The three men sat down and added to the smoke.

“Jack,” Cat all but whispered, “we're going to have to risk it, you know.”

Crow didn't look at him, didn't respond, just puffed hard on his cigarette.

Cat exchanged a look with Felix before trying again.

“We can't move her, Jack. And.., well, we can put sensors outside, out in front, so we'll know they're coming. Hell, they might not even come.”

Crow glared at him. “They know she's hurt, Cherry. Do you really believe they won't come?”

Cat just looked at him.

Crow turned to Felix. “Do you?”

Felix met his gaze. “No.”

And it was quiet for a while.

“But we've got some options here,” Cat continued. “We don't have to fight. They'll probably come in the front-why wouldn't they? And we'll hear them and we can move her then!”

“Give us that again,” said Felix, interested.

"We move her out the back. Miles of hallways in this place. We'll just wheel her down the hall and into an elevator and just pick a route out the back. Look, I've checked it out. I know just where to park the Blazer..

And he went on for a while in convincing style and much detail, like it was, really, a great opportunity instead of the disaster it was.

Felix sat in silence as be spoke, hating it. They all knew better. When would they come? From which direction? How many? How were they going to stop them at night? And did anyone really believe they could just trot through this hospital wheeling a critical patient? Fighting vampires along the way?

Felix sat there and listened to Cat and watched Jack Crow and saw him again, haggard and beaten but coming through to tend to Carl's body. And then relaxed and relieved and hopeful before ten minutes later having to save the whole show single-handed.

And now Cat trying to convince everybody this was all going to be all right.

The Gunman smiled.

Cat stopped talking abruptly when he saw the smile.

“What is it, Felix?” Jack asked. “What do you think of the Plan, here?”

“It stinks.”

"I suppose you'd like to just get out of here.

“I sure would.”

“Are you?”

Felix felt his own smile growing. Do you bastards really think I'd abandon Annabelle? Or you, Crow, after what you've done?

“Jack,” he said at last, “you're a real prick.”

Crow eyed him a moment. “True,” he replied seriously.

And. . . “Okay, okay, okay,” he continued wearily. “I guess we're stuck with Cat's little scheme. Unless the Gunman here has something new?”

'Fraid not."

“'Fraid you'd say that. Okay. But I want two escape routes. Get back to the bishop's and fetch the motorhome. I want two ways out of this place. You and Cat figure out where we should stash the vehicles. And you'd better take Davette somewhere. Where were we supposed to stay last night? The one by the Galleria?”

“She won't go,” said Father Adam from the doorway. “Huh?” asked Jack.

Adam shook his head. “She won't leave Annabelle's side.” Felix snorted. “Like hell she won't. You just-”

Cat shook his head, too. “She won't, Felix.”

Crow and Felix exchanged looks.

“This is crap,” said one of them.

Cat leaned forward on the table.

“Hey, guys,” he said gently. “We're getting down to it. And everybody's got his own style.”

Felix stared at him like he was from Mars.

“'His own style,' eh?” muttered Jack, almost to himself. “Well, that's nice.”

Then he leaned over and put his cigarette out and started giving orders.

“We set the detectors and we fetch the motorhome and we scope out two escape routes and then, a couple of hours before dark, somebody-you, Gunman, it's your woman-pick up our pretty little martyr and her style and put her ass in a motel because that's my style and I run things here.”

Felix grinned along with the rest of them and wondered why? Why? We haven't got a fucking prayer..

“Mr. Crow?” came from behind Adam. It was Anna-belle's nurse. The men got to their feet.

“Is she.. .?” Jack began.

The nurse smiled tightly. “She's awake again. She wants to talk to you.”

“Right,” said Jack, already moving. “The rest of you get moving. I want the motorhome here in an hour, with all the beds down. We've got to get some sleep before tonight.”

Annabelle, near death, white as a sheet, surrounded by beeping electronics and pierced through with running tubes, still managed to be radiant.

Talk about style, thought Jack to himself as Davette got up and he took her seat.

“Annabelle,” he whispered to her, “don't you ever sleep?”

She didn't even bother to smile. “Jack,” she whispered huskily, "we've got to talk..

But only she talked and Jack listened and he absolutely hated what he heard.

Annabelle had figured it out. She was half-dead, but she knew the score. She knew she couldn't move. She knew the night was coming. She knew the vampires, just like Jack, had their own connections. They knew who the Team was, knew all about them. Knew about her, had actually seen her and knew she was hurt.

And she knew they would come for her and the police would never know how to react or possibly even believe what they'd seen after it was all over.

No. She had decided. They must leave her here.

And Jack tried to reassure her, tried most of the junk Cat had just finished throwing at him, that it wasn't like they were trapped, they could always get out the back and, besides, there was no guarantee the vampires really would show up here and...

And she knew better, as always.

“Jack!” she pleaded, her eyes frantic, “you must go. You must save yourselves!”

And Crow looked right at her and said, “We'll see.”

And she knew she had lost.

"At least get Davette.

“I've already taken care of that,” Jack whispered to her “I put Felix on it.”

And she almost smiled. “About time.”

Then she sighed and looked away for a moment. When she looked back her eyes were filled with tears and she reached up her pale skinny arm to him and he leaned down so she could caress his dirty, unshaven face.

“Jack.. .” she sighed. "Sweet Jack. You were . . You were always such a good boy..

And he didn't cry because he couldn't let her carry that, too.~ But his eyes were hot and her tiny fingers on his face were the softest touch he had ever known.

Then she gave him a playful slap and pushed him a way.

“Where's my purse?” she demanded. “I must look a fright.”

“Huh? You look fine.. .” sputtered Crow.

“What do you know about it?” she replied in her lady voice. “Find my purse, please.”

So he rummaged around and found it and opened it and handed it to her.

“Oh, good,” she said after she had glanced inside. “I've got my minor. Now, run along.”

Jack frowned. “Don't you think you should be resting? Or-”

“I repeat: what do you know about it? Now go away.”

He rose, uncertain. “I'll get Davette,” he offered.

“Oh, please, Jack. I think I can put my own makeup on after so-and-so many years. All of you: leave me alone to myself for just one instant. Please!”

“Well, okay,” he muttered back, defeated once more. And he stumbled out through the curtain drawn around her bed and informed Davette and left to find the others.

The glass of water on the hospital tray was close by, but it took her a long time to reach it and the effort exhausted her. She lay back against the pillow, careful not to spilli the cup, and rested a moment. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind but instead she saw the house in Pebble Beach and she saw the zoo and she saw the faces of all her boys who had died.

“Please, God!” she whispered. "No more of them. No more..

And she leaned forward and fumbled one-handed through her purse and the pills were still there, where they had been for the last year.

My boys.