Vampire's Day (Book 1): Epicenter (12 page)

47. Boozer 4

“We ran into this house, but I don’t remember how I got to this floor. You know the rest.”

The famous actress finished the story, allowing Boozer to ponder what he’d heard. He thought for a minute or so.

“You're telling me the truth? Not lying about the blood?”

“I'm telling you - I saw it myself. They tear each other's throats and drink the blood. Look, see for yourself!”

She pointed to the hallway where the bodies lay on the floor. The sun was high at this hour, and it cast rays through the dirty window at the end of the hallway. There is light enough to see the neighbor’s corpse, especially the wound on his neck.

“See that? Its how it spreads - first someone tore his throat and drank the blood, and after a few minutes he gets up, tearing the throat and drinking the blood of the next person.”

“What is spreading?”

“Infection. I don’t know what this disease is, but it makes them drink blood. The radio said that they are not people, but vampires.”

Boozer smiled wryly.

“Bullshit.”

Boozer didn’t believe in vampires, they are for girls to believe in. It wasn’t a vampire who knocked on the door to his apartment today, and wasn’t a vampire he shot on the doorstep, three bullets in the chest and stomach. Vampires don’t die from normal bullets, only silver, but this fucking neighbor died without any problems, just like the cop. And it’s daytime. The sun is shining directly on the corpse, and he has not burnt in its rays. No, all of this is nonsense. Most likely, they just picked up rabies, that explanation seemed logical.

So, he understood now what had happened; now they just had to stay alive.

“Okay, let's say I believe you. The whole fucking city has gone insane, and now one-half of its citizens eat the other half. And you want to get out of here on a helicopter, which, as you say, should arrive for you personally?”

“Yeah. The helicopter will arrive, and I'll fly on it, and you'll be with me. I just need to get onto the roof, so none of these crazies can get me. I can’t do it alone!”

“And why will the helicopter fly for you? Are you sure about that?”

This time the actress smiled wryly in response.

“I'm sure that rescuers will arrive for me, because I'm rich and famous. I made one hundred and five million dollars last year. And my husband is a billionaire. And he has connections, he knows all the really important people in the city and state. He has a team of mercenaries, real thugs, from the Special Forces - Iraq, Afghanistan, places like that. For a fee, they will save me. In the morning they dragged my husband and his friends out of this mess, and now he will send them to me.”

“Or maybe they’ll just take advantage and will fly the chopper out of here without you?”

“My husband will pay each of them a million bucks when they bring me to him alive. So don’t worry, they will come.”

A million bucks. Boozer licked his lips.

“So, your beautiful ass is worth a million bucks? Okay, for a million I'm ready to take you to the helicopter. No, wait, not for one million, for one and a half million. I've already saved you once, so tit for tat, another half on top. I'll take you to the helicopter and fly away with you, and it will be worth one and a half million for me. Agree?”

“I agree,” she said, without hesitation.

“And one and a half million not in cash. I need something more reliable, gold or diamonds.”

“If you want you can even have cocaine and whores.”

Boozer thought for a moment.

“Wait, how does the pilot know where to find you? You got here by accident, how does he know what roof you'll be on?”

The actress raised her left hand, pointing at the button on the insanely expensive suit sleeve.

“One of the security measures in case of abduction. This is a special emergency transmitter, the same as the military use. The pilot will find us by its signal.”

“Cool. You are all sorted - the transmitter, the mercenaries, the helicopter and millions. The rich will survive anywhere. Well, if so, let's not waste time and get to the roof. This building may catch fire.”

“Not yet. We have to wait.”

“Why, for what?!”

“Wait for the signal. I was told not to climb onto the roof before I received a signal about when they will arrive. This transmitter is also a receiver. We must wait for the signal.”

“Well, let's wait. In the meantime, help me up.”

48. Jimenez in the operations center 4

The cars in the underground garage were waiting for their group: a couple of Humvees and vans with tinted windows. The corporal pointed Jimenez to one of these vans, and she took her place at the back door with the trophy MP gun on her lap. The motors roared and the convoy left for the surface. Somewhere ahead machine guns began to shoot. A single bullet hit the hull, and Jimenez realized that the van was armored. She looked through the dark window at the burning city, recalling the end of the conversation with Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones.

“How many of our crews were left in the city today, when people were screaming down the phone that some crazy had bit them? How many of them went to work without having the slightest idea of what they would face? How many firefighters, doctors, soldiers are died? How many became vampires? And all because no one warned them!”

“What do you suggest to us, miss? We should have made a show on national TV, urging people to prepare for the vampires’ attack, even though it wasn’t likely to happen? We couldn’t warn anyone in advance, because no one would ever have believed us. It’s fucking vampires, hell, they don’t exist in reality! If I told you about this yesterday, you would have laughed at me. We had to work in secret, preparing for a possible strike that might not happen.”

“The strike has happened. And you missed it.”

“Yes, this is an unfortunate fact. We've already lost the battle for the city, now we are talking about how to keep the state. They are coming, we are defending. And to keep their offensive we need everyone who is able to hold a gun, and our task is to collect as much data about the enemy as possible. The army knows what is happening; the President will soon appear on national television. We need everyone, because if you're not with us, then you're with them. Are you with us?”

“Yes. And while the president has not yet appeared on TV, tell me more about how to frag these bloodsuckers.”

“Remember - no mystery, no magic. Rely on what you were taught at the academy, on your experience. It's not hunting vampires with crosses and aspen stakes like a movie; it's a war, as with the Japanese in the forties – it’s necessary to use war methods to win. Use all available weapons, knowing that they will use all that they have. It’s best to join the military, we need professionals.”

“Remember – the Hunger isthe vampires
’
advantage and disadvantage at the same time. Hunger makes them stronger than the ordinary man, increases the regenerative capacity, but it’s killing them. Remember the time limit. They are in a hurry and will endeavor to carry out battles as quickly as possible. You have to play for time; every extra second brings them closer to death.”

“Hunger makes them desperately courageous: it’s impossible to scare the hungry vampire; he will do anything to get your blood. But if the hunger gets stronger, they begin to lose their memory and can forget about the easiest things. They forget how to use the radio or drive a car; they go crazy from severe hunger. Hunger makes them insensitive to pain, so no hand-to-hand fighting, only firearms. The Irreversible loses all reason, he is unable to communicate or make plans, and he can’t use even the simplest weapons. The Irreversible is dangerous only in numbers. But the vampire whose hunger is satisfied is able to think, is subject to pain and feels fear, consider this fact.You can turn them away if you hit hard enough.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, I will remember your words. But it's all about those who become infected today, who became the attack victims. And who organized this attack? Who was on Flight 263? Who managed it all?”

“Our former soldiers. They planned and carried out this military operation. Air rifles, one of which you were able to take as a trophy - it's their idea. The used small bullets with infected blood inside; one light wound, and you're already in their army, without even knowing it. Most policemen, doctors and firefighters in the city were shot using these rifles. So they quickly increased their numbers, and then, creating a huge numerical advantage, threw against our defense the waves of infected, punching one by one all the quarantine boundaries that we had managed to build. They are supplying their new allies with arms by plane from Mexico. Mexico was attacked too.”

“What do they want?”

“We don’t know, we still don’t have their demands. Most likely, at this moment they want to capture as much territory as possible and more people. Remember, the vampire can’t satisfy his hunger using another vampire, so…”

“So they can’t kill all of us, or they will simply starve. They need real living people to take their blood. I remember - this is their weakness.”

“Officer, you have to go. For you the war is just beginning, I wish you good luck in the battle. Stay alive as long as possible, save as many civilians as possible and frag as many of these bloodsuckers as possible.”

“I will do everything I can. And thank you for saving me. Good luck.”

49. Profit

Muti Rosenfeld wasn’t in Los Angeles that morning for a good reason – he was in the Bahamas, on a small private island in the company of charming mulatto girls, whose bodies Muti considered the best medicine for approaching old age. He was only seventy-five, and was determined to live as long as possible, regularly changed jewelry business with recreation. But even on vacation, Muti don’t forget about work, so was able to quickly respond to what is happening in Los Angeles

Initially, he didn’t attach much importance to the first confused messages from LA, but when his best lawyer called in a panic, Muti started to worry seriously. Leaving the pool and girls, he rushed to communicate with the people in the city and suffered a complete failure. Employees, customers, security, partners and allies in the City Hall and the Police Department, even competitors - they all seemed to have sunk into a black hole without leaving any traces.

Only familiar actress, who he had personally made a necklace for the last Oscars, replied - she screamed into the phone that her estate was under siege and demanded send a helicopter for her. Muti listened to her hysteria and thought that the helicopter was a good idea. Brown had a helicopter. He disconnected her hysterical screams and tried to call Brown, but Brown got him first.

“Hello, Muti. How are you?”

Muti never allowed anyone who served him to call him Muti. To people of Brown’s level he is Mr. Rosenfeld, and nothing else. And now this mercenary imagined himself God knew what… Muti managed to suppress a surge of anger, it was not necessary to think about it now, he need to think about business. He needs Brown and his helicopter.

“Brown, I need your help.”

“Yes, I thought so, I'll listen carefully.”

With a trembling hand Muti poured a glass of vodka, sat in front of a huge TV, which broadcasted a panorama of burning Los Angeles, and explained the problem. He had already lost the store and to hell with that. He will survive, a six million loss and no more, the showrooms in Beijing or Moscow generated much more profit. But his workshop and warehouse, he couldn’t lose it. There were not just his goods; business partners had invested and convincing those partners to write off the loss due to force majeure would not work.

“Brown, I need evacuation. My workshop and my warehouse, I need to bring all the goods from them urgently.”

“How much do you have there?”

Muti quickly licked his lips.

“Forty-five million, in stones and gold. Bring it here and I'll pay you…”

“Ten, Muti, ten of forty-five. And no cash, only jewels and gold.”

“Ten? Brown, are you crazy? Who would pay ten million?”

“You, Muti, you will pay if you want to get back the diamonds. If you don’t like the price, look for someone else.”

“Fine, you son of a bitch, ten! But only if you remove every last stone!”

“OK, Muti. Now get me the codes for the security system, I will not have time to play in the cracker. And yet, you have to save someone from the city until his or her killed? I am for a three million for the rescue, but for you 50 percent discount, one and half a million for the place in a helicopter. Well, there is someone in mind?”

Muti thought about a blonde, a top model who had won Miss America and someone he intended to turn into an actress. Oh, to hell with her, she was not worth one and half a million.

“Only the warehouse.”

50. Officers and civilians

They hadn’t seen shells exploding, but they’d heard it, and felt as the earth and asphalt shook underfoot.

“Is that an air strike?”

“No, it’s artillery, I recognize the sound. Somewhere on the northern outskirts, on the ocean side, it’s a shot from the ship.”

“Who is shooting? Is this our fleet?”

“Probably. Well, what now?”

“We take the box down.”

The Firefighter cut the parachute lines, then, with great difficulty, pulled from the garage roof a heavy dark green metal box with the number thirty-seven on the cover. Handing the box down, he took two steps to the roof ridge and looked around the neighborhood. Under normal circumstances, he would have a lot of work here; it seemed that a few blocks were burning. Fire devoured entire streets, jumping from one building to another. He heard the rattle of the tiles and smelt melting asphalt.

Traffic jams were everywhere, and some cars are also burning. A couple of times he saw someone in the smoke, but could not tell who it was. Shooting continued, particularly densely at the crossroads near the gun shop. He counted in the sky seven army helicopters.

“What if it's a bomb?”

The patrolman grinned.

“It's not a bomb, its parachute container; military used it to supply the paratroopers. I saw a lot of little parachutes, seems they threw it across the city, probably supplying soldiers with ammo.”

“Let's open it, there might be food inside? I'm dying with hunger!”

Locks clicked loudly, and they opened the thirty-seventh container.

“Sorry, man, no food. Look.”

There were ten new, greased AKM with folding buttstocks and black plastic forearms. In a separate small box were pineapple-like soviet hand grenades, and a radio set, city maps and medicines.

“Why did they drop Kalashnikovs for us?”

The policeman took the gun, thoughtfully examined it, and then put in a magazine.

“It's not for us, it’s for them. None of these AK has the serial number; it’s not clear where and when it was made. And the plane that dropped the parcel – it was an old civil Cesna. Why would the Air Force use such a vehicle?”

“This cargo was destined for the crazies, and we just randomly received it. Someone is equipping these bloodsuckers, and wants them to become even stronger.”

“Who and why do they do it?”

“I don’t know. In any case, we’ve got more than ten barrels. Raise your hands, who knows how to use these weapons? Who has held a Kalashnikov in hands for real and not just in video games?”

Besides the police officer, there are three more able to use AKM: a firefighter, one civilian and the young bandit.

“Everyone – take up guns. Now anyone who doesn’t want die, should be armed. See that it’s loaded, that's right. Single fire, don’t shoot bursts, otherwise you will surely miss; these jackhammers have a strong recoil. Pressed them close to your shoulder, don’t try to hit the head, aim for the chest and belly. Leave the track here, let’s walk.”

Gently opening the back door, the cop entered the service station, through which, as one of the civilians suggested, they could go to the crossroads near the gun shop. Inside there was no one except a couple of corpses. Several single shots came from the yard.

“What happened?”

“A couple of crazies, they came out of the alley and attacked us. No guns.”

“Faster, close the door so that the entire street doesn’t come here.”

The firefighter looked carefully out of the small dusty window. Across the street was the gun shop, the pavement in front of it crowded with broken cars and corpses. The shooting had stopped, and several men and women carried weapons and ammunition boxes out of the shop, stacking them in a van. Next to them was another group of crazies, but for some reason they didn’t have guns.

“Too late, the shop is captured.”

“Quiet!”

The crazies, those that were unarmed, froze for a moment, turning their heads to the service station, and then rushed to the gate.

“Fuck, they smell us!”

The battle was short but fierce. The AKM were extremely useful: the first wave of crazies were shot down before reaching the gate. The robbers were smarter; they didn’t rush into the melee, and, having taken cover behind the cars, entered the firefight. A patrolman shot the woman in the red shirt with a shotgun, and then a civilian in his group fell to the floor with a broken head.

“Grenades!”

A blast thundered, and then, to the patrolman’s inexpressible pleasure, machine gun fire hit the looters from the gun shop’s second floor. Victory.