Vampire's Day (Book 1): Epicenter (7 page)

28. Workshop

“Another car with tools has arrived.”

“Well, unload it. What about the generators?”

“Five minutes.”

As a shop, Clarence chose this place in advance before coming to the city. He’d carefully studied the company's website and looked at all the pictures. Later, arriving in LA, he went to see it a couple of times with his own eyes, as a client. His wife also went, with the children staying in entertainment centers and restaurants nearby. They watched and took pictures, and then analyzed the data. That's right, from an early age he had encouraged his son and daughter to work.

In appearance, it was a usual car dealership, not the most prestigious. But the workshop was equipped with everything necessary to maintain and repair cars, which he’d found out when he came here to fix a dent, intentionally made on the hood.

The location was no less important than the equipment. The workshop was on the ground floor of a ten-storey building, which had a lot of useful features. There were numerous fast food joints, and a couple of pharmacies. There were clothes, shoes, computers, and other necessary stores. No gun shop, but no location could be completely perfect.

The building was located close to the city center, at the crossroads, with plenty of entries and exits; they could continue work even if the enemy blocked part of the driveway. Below the workshop was underground parking, which now allowed them to pass the infected crowd. The nine floors above acted as a shield. It was a trade center built in the fifties and it was much stronger than its more advanced neighbors. To bring down this building would need exact heavy bomb hits. A high-rise on all sides interfered with the attack helicopters, which would be the most dangerous enemy’s weapon at this stage.

They had captured the office center, working as usual with the whole family. They arrived on time, having bypassed the first checkpoints and entered the building with regular visitors, many of whom were still not aware of what is happening in the suburbs. There was still calm, but most shops are not working, with customers and staff crowded at the screens, trying to make sense of what was happening from television reports. A perfect target.

29. Mr. Brown

Mr. Brown hated rich folks; hated since childhood, since growing up in the South Central and dreaming with his street gang pals about robbing the rich houses in Beverly Hills. They had too much money, for which Dodger Brown could find a much better use. Money should belong to someone who knew how to use it.

His childhood was over, but the hatred would not go away. But the idea of robbery no longer seemed so seductive, because one day Brown fell from his motorcycle and was hospitalized. That day, in his absence, his gang got into a shootout with rivals, which ended with three of his pals were taken in the same hospital with bullet and knife wounds of varying severity. Two more were in the morgue.

Dodger Brown made the right conclusions from what happened and enlisted in the army, going to the recruiting office immediately after the hospital. It was hard in the army, in Special Forces even harder, but he survived South Central, and would not be lost in Afghanistan. And he survived, successfully applying his past skills. Brown was not a top sniper or the most experienced specialist in counterinsurgency warfare and sabotage. He was just good at organizing things, and it brought him success. Good organization was important in the war no less than in the drug trade. His stature grew, and Dodger Brown became Mr. Brown, a generalist, a known man for rough work.

The army made him a successful man, but he was not going to give a lifetime of service. Jumping from one war to another didn’t seem a good idea to him. He served and that was enough, it was time to go home.

Returning to LA, Brown was briefly unemployed, but not worried about it. His appearance didn’t go unnoticed, and he was showered with generous offers - competition between gangs had escalated in his absence. The ordinary street thugs’ level of training was not enough, and experienced soldiers were needed by everyone. He could put together his own gang, as the founders of Los Zetas, but why? Another job awaited him, prepared in advance through contacts with the right people.

He was not an ordinary guard, considering this craft too low for him. Mr. Brown was not involved in daily security routines, being a specialist for solving problems for his numerous clients. And since his clients were rich and famous, and the problems they had a serious, often inaccessible to ordinary managers and administrators. He knew everything and everyone, has serious communication among representatives of the authorities and the underworld, and come when it really begin to smell fried.

Mr. Brown negotiated in cases of abduction and urged rape victims to be paid off, and not to bring cases to court. He severely punished pesky reporters and freaks, which pursued his clients, especially women. Brown could provide a soft mode in prison for his client’s friends, or the maximum hard mode for their enemies, depending on what is paid for. He could take out illegal drugs without prescriptions and was well acquainted with experienced blackmailers. He bribed, he received bribes, beat debts - in general, do all that was necessary to do, without unnecessary noise and dust. Working with the rich folks, Brown became almost the same as they are. Almost.

The difference between him and his employers was still present, and he could not overcome this difference, no matter how much he tried. The expensive suits and the lessons of language and good manners, which he learnt with the same zeal he’d used to study battles in a dense urban environment, it didn’t help. Yes, he personally knew almost everyone who was important and famous in the state, from the hotel owners and porn dealers to the founders of computer companies with turnover of many billions. Yes, they were proud of him in their own way; they liked to have a former Special Forces fighter for the job, and didn’t miss an opportunity to brag to other rich folks about his awards, like some kind of fighting dog champion. Yes, a lot of women, from Oscar winners to wives of major company presidents, dreamed about getting him into bed, and he sometimes yielded their whims, as usual doing everything at the highest standard. Yes, his income steadily approached two million dollars a year. And yet he could never be one of them.

Mr. Brown was well aware that, in spite of all his skills, for his clients, he was only a servant, another well-trained bellboy. They give the orders and Brown performed, and while he took risks and worked from dawn to dusk, making his two million a year, his clients earn billions, basking in the glory and adoration. An
d
if things remain unchanged, he can’t do anything, too strong inertia of their rich, well-planned world.

So, Mr. Brown worked for the rich folks, smiled broadly and secretly hated, waiting for the day when the situation would change dramatically, allowing him to achieve greater success, knowing that that day may never come. But today, when all the phones started ringing at once, and the windows of his suburban home overlooked numerous fires in the city - now he knew that the day has come. The day when everything depended on him.

“To the airport, quickly!”

30. Workshop 2

Visitors and most of the staff gathered at television screens, watching the live reports with fascination, not paying attention to what was happening around them. A perfect target.

Clarence family carried small air guns, made of plastic. No one noticed when they opened fire; small needles just hit people as they stood at the screens, primarily security guards and store personnel. After a couple of minutes, an outbreak covered the mall like wildfire. Using panic as their cover, the Clarence family immediately entered the workshop and repeated their mass shooting of air guns, aiming at the people they required.

“Close the door!”

Panic raged upstairs, but in the workshop Clarence restored order with an iron hand. A capsule of pure blood is given to the mechanics and workers. He had to kill several infected visitors with his Valther, because they attacked him when sniffed blood in capsules, the number of hungry needed to be controlled. At this moment they had less blood than required and they had to forage on their own, going on a hunt.

In its own way, the Clarence family hunted too, only their target was something special. He was now hunting for experienced and relevant professionals, who needed to be taken alive. They shouldn’t be killed by military and police, they shouldn’t go crazy with hunger, searching for those who had real blood in veins - they should work.

Policemen, firemen, doctors - all of them were in the primary objectives category. If possible they should not destroy them, because their skills would be extremely useful in the war. But only police and doctors wouldn’t be enough, they needed a lot more men. Engineers and workers, computer specialists, drivers, pilots, a very large list of professions – with those skills they had a good chance of surviving the first wave. Others, who in the early planning stage had been designated as useless, were now taking the honorable role of the giant living wave, thrown on military positions in non-occupied areas of LA.

The dose of fresh blood has done its job, quickly bringing to life the new personnel of Clarence’s workshop. For some time they will be unable to think, acting as though dosed by tranquilizer, and he used this time to establish his unconditional authority. The guards were ordered to go upstairs, close all the exits, and then get food and medicines from pharmacies and snack bars. Another job waited for the mechanics.

31. Mr. Brown 2

One of Brown’s important skills was to safely and accurately analyze incoming information, discarding everything that was unnecessary. This useful quality allowed him to better keep track of changes in the combat situation, and it also helped him now. He didn’t suffer from imagination and reflection, just used facts and analysis.

Brown calmly received the news that an epidemic of an unknown disease had broken out in the metropolis and was rapidly growing, most likely a new type of rabies. What this new type of rabies was, where it came from and how to treat it – that was not his thing. He let scientists in their secret laboratories handle that. Brown was not afraid of illness; he had already worked in contaminated areas in Africa. Instead of rabies it had been some fever, but this could hardly be worse.

It had already been realized that the infection was transmitted through blood. So, it was necessary to use new battle suits, which reliably protected almost the entire body. The infected increased as they attacked more people. In response, the authorities announced the freedom of self-defense - now heavy weapons could be used without any restrictions. A state of emergency had been introduced, and all the power of society now rested with the military, so Mr Brown urgently needed to talk with some old friends in the army. Panic, looting, traffic jams, fires and much more - all of this was clarifying information for Brown like notes on satellite photos of the upcoming battlefield made by staff officers.

Today would be the most complex rescue operation in his career, the most ambitious and the most profitable. The infection spread like a rapidly progressing cancer, occupying more and more territory, capturing more and more people. The order had been replaced by chaos in a few minutes, and his wealthy clients had belatedly realized that their familiar world was collapsing. Those who were still alive found that the police were no longer in a hurry to help them. Flocks of well-trained lawyers and managers were useless in this situation, and personal security, in which they had invested so much money, couldn’t do much. Security people were not ready for full-scale war, and this war invaded their rich areas, invaded instantly and without warning. Traffic on the roads died, blocking the opportunity to leave. Entire neighborhoods, prestigious areas and small rich towns suddenly became cut off from the world, private villas converted into besieged fortress, and their inhabitants, who was still alive, desperately tried to reach him, with the gut feeling that only Brown could pull their rich ass out of this nightmare. Mr. Brown - a specialist for action in critical situations.

Brown worked fast, even faster than the military, because, unlike the army units that were now pulled to Los Angeles, he had no need to wait for instructions and orders, and acted at his sole discretion. Kicked out two expensive prostitutes, he unhesitatingly left his rich home, taking his place in an armored SUV, along with three fighters.

The road was not long, because Brown had prudently bought a house not far from the small private airport in the suburbs, which now had a crucial role in his operation.

32. Workshop 3

“There they are, open the gate!”

The large gate slowly rose, letting in acrid smoke from the street. There was a lot of smoke, and the fires were becoming bigger. Many neighboring buildings were burning and nobody was extinguishing the fires. The guards had distributed all available fire extinguishers so they could ensure that the fire didn’t spread to them, but they couldn’t do anything about the smoke. It was a good thing that they still had electricity, because it the air conditioners were running at full capacity.

Sounds came from the street - the roar of the flames, screaming, shooting, sirens, helicopters noise. And out of the smoke entered cars, one after the other; models that hadn’t been worked on here before.

“Close the gate!”

His new employees started to work on the new cars. There were twelve SUV pickups, quite new, stolen by one of the new vampire’s gangs from another garage. For Clarence they were a primary objective. He loved these cars, and they were the most suitable for his business - soon they would be turned into real fighting machines under his instruction.

Yesterday, he had already delivered the armor - the truck with steel plates three and five millimeters thick waiting in the parking. Machine guns and other weapons would soon arrive, and then his team will connect it all together, turning civilian cars into armored vehicles. They would have to improvise, but there was no war without improvisation.

As a senior engineer in a private military corporation, Clarence had visited military conflict before and almost everywhere used gun trucks, self-made combat vehicles. Their enemies and local allies often turned ordinary cars and trucks into ersatz armored vehicles with steel plates as armor and installing in the body everything that could shoot - from machine guns to light anti-aircraft guns, mortars and multiple rocket launchers. He also created a lot of these machines, turning army trucks into fortresses on wheels in the Vietnam War style. And now he made gun trucks for his new army, according to pre-designed needs.

Instead of glass windows, they had steel plates with observation slits. Armor covered the driver's cab, engine and fuel tank. The total weight of armor and weapons was a few hundred pounds, which would not affect driving performance. Fuel consumption would increase, but would still be much lower than the fuel consumption of an armored personnel carrier or tank. That would be important in the near future - soon every liter of gas would be sold for a required price.

It was still a work in progress, but the cars rapidly changed shape, and could be sent to fight as soon as possible. Soon the first army units entered into the city to help the police. His improvised armored vehicles would give them an unpleasant surprise; Clarence remembered how difficult it was to hunt enemy gun trucks even in the open desert. In the city streets it would be even more challenging, especially if the drivers used their main trump card - mobility.

By the time they brought in the guns, the improvised armored cars were almost ready.

“Where did you get those guns?“

“From the National Guard, and mortars too.“

“OK, get shooters and drivers!”