Rule of Vampire (25 page)

“Thus we have the epidemic of today, which threatens our entire species. The existence of these Wilderings is going to be impossible to hide, and once known to the world at large, vampires will be the targets of human wrath.

“We won’t win that war. They outnumber us by hundreds of millions, they can move around by day and by night, and they have developed weapons that neutralize our natural speed and strength.

“Somehow, in trying to create empathetic vampires, I have created an even more vicious and remorseless breed.

“They must be stopped.”

#

There was a long silence. Terrill had guessed some of this, and the rest was like a story he’d been told once but forgotten. It sounded right.

“So you’re saying that we are the results of simple biology,” he said. “Genetic freaks.”

“No!” Michael said emphatically. “You haven’t understood me at all. I have so far told you only half the story, and not the most important part. Hear me.”

#

“As the centuries passed, I began to realize something else about what it meant to be vampire.

“Genetics explained many things. But why was it that the crucifix repelled us? Why did holy water burn us? Why could we not walk on consecrated ground? What was it about a wooden stake that made us vulnerable?

“And most of all, why were we forced to walk in the shade, never feeling the blessed daylight?

“It was as if the humans were right: we were damned creatures, condemned to darkness.

“None of this could be explained by science. It was a realm I felt unable to enter––the realm of religion.

“I never did find an answer to these questions, until one day, by some miracle, Terrill became human. But
how
did he become human? It wasn’t because of anything I had done. It certainly wasn’t because of genetics.

“It was because of Terrill’s moral choices and his sacrifice.

“He suffered, he endured, and he resisted temptation. And he asked for redemption.

“To my utter astonishment, he received it.

“Once again, I dared meddle with nature. I thought perhaps I was defying the will of God, but perhaps I was doing His will.

“I turned Terrill back into a vampire, and he became something new: a vampire who can walk in daylight. I thought, perhaps, this was the culmination of my designs.

“But I realize now they were not my designs. They were the designs of someone far greater than I. They were the designs of the God of men, who I believe is also the God of vampires.”

#

There was another long silence. Talk of God and vampires didn’t go together in Terrill’s experience… and yet.

“I have something I need to show you,” he said.

He raised his arm and extended his fangs. From a single pair of puncture wounds, the golden blood welled out, glittering even in the dim light of the hideaway.

Michael gasped. Clarkson looked curious, but obviously couldn’t make sense of it.

Michael reached out and caught a drop of the golden blood on his finger. He lifted it to his mouth.

He went into convulsions almost immediately, shaking violently from head to toe, and Terrill got ready to catch him if he fell. Then the fit subsided and he grew still. His white skin briefly took on an almost human flesh tone, then faded to its usual pallor. He opened his eyes, and they were shining with a strange fervor.

“Clarkson. Drink Terrill’s blood,” he commanded.

Clarkson looked at Terrill as if asking for permission, and Terrill nodded. It felt right.

Clarkson took one sip and collapsed onto the carpets that covered the ground of the hideaway, thrashing as if she was being killed. A high, steady moan emanated from her frothing lips, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“What have you done?” Sylvie exclaimed. She dropped down to Clarkson’s side and held the vampire’s head in her lap so that it wasn’t pounding against the ground.

Finally, Clarkson stopped convulsing. Her eyes fluttered open. Her cheeks were flushed and her white-blonde hair had taken on a golden glow. She looked, Terrill marveled, more like a human than a vampire.

“You are God’s creatures,” Michael breathed. “Not mine. All this time I thought I was being clever, and I was but doing God’s will.”

Terrill looked inside himself and wondered,
Am I the first of a new kind of vampire? A Golden Vampire?

Then he laughed. “God’s will or nature’s gift, it sure is strange. And I’m not sure it solves the problem of the Wilderings or makes us any safer. This whole thing might end in disaster if we don’t do something about it.”

Clarkson and Michael seemed to be in the throes of some kind of religious ecstasy. In the distance, Terrill could hear explosions and gunfire.

“Hey!” he said sharply. “
Hello?
You guys? We need to go help the humans before they’re wiped out!”

“How do we do that?” Sylvie asked.

“We’ll have to join them, fight on their side––if they’ll have us.”

Snapping out of her trance, Clarkson stared at him for a moment, then nodded.
She’d follow me anywhere
, Terrill thought uncomfortably.
I hope I don’t get us all killed.
But he was certain it was the right thing to do. His progeny had unintentionally brought this disaster upon the people of this town, and he needed to do what he could to save them.

“I will not be joining you,” Michael said. “I will never kill again, either human or vampire. My fate lies elsewhere.”

“Then farewell, my friend, twice my Maker,” Terrill said. He turned toward the tunnel. He could see sunlight peeking through the hedges, and normally that would have stopped Clarkson from following him. But now?

She was a Golden Vampire. She could walk in daylight.

The world of vampires had changed.

Chapter 40

When Terrill disappeared behind the bulletproof glass of the airport terminal, Fitzsimmons didn’t have time to get angry, because rushing toward them from all sides came Wilderings. They surrounded Fitzsimmons, Peterson, and the five remaining guards and then stopped, sniffing and milling around the European vampires as if trying to figure out whether they were prey. The smell of human was still in the air, and that was confusing them.

One of them lurched forward and tried to bite Peterson, who probably looked like an easy target. Peterson swiftly drew a sword out of his cane and beheaded the attacker. As the head rolled along the tarmac, it seemed to trigger the other Wilderings, who surged forward.

The untrained and clumsy Wilderings were easy to dispatch, and at first the guards were able to create a cordon around Fitzsimmons and Peterson. Then the sheer number of their opponents began to take its toll. One of the guards went down and the Wilderings tore into him. The blue blood of the vampire flew through the air and sent the attackers into a frenzy.

Enough of this!
Fitzsimmons thought. He strode into the Wilderings, claws and fangs extended. He moved so fast that to him, the other vampires appeared to be moving in slow motion. Peterson followed, nearly as fast, followed in turn by the guards. They fought their way toward the plane and were only a few feet from its door when the Wilderings suddenly doubled in number. It was as if news of the battle at the airport had reached the streets of Crescent City, and those not already attacking the Armory had been diverted to this new target.

Running from Wilderings wasn’t something Fitzsimmons could tolerate. Energy surged through him, and the thrill of battle. The guards were all down and Peterson was surrounded. Fitzsimmons turned from the safety of the plane’s open door and waded back into the mass of Wilderings.

More Wilderings came, and then more. Amid the joy of battle, it slowly dawned on Fitzsimmons that he might have miscalculated his own strength. There were too many Wilderings: an endless number, it seemed. After a time, even their fresh blue blood failed to replenish his energy. Peterson was standing back to back with him, but the old man was breathing heavily, and it looked as though he was having a hard time lifting his sword.

Fitzsimmons heard the sound of marching feet and dared a glance over his shoulder. There, approaching in a double line, were at least twenty more Wilderings.

Fitzsimmons almost gave up then. He almost bolted for the plane, even knowing that if he broke ranks with Peterson, his back would be exposed and he might be taken down from behind.

But then the approaching lines of vampires did something unexpected. They marched into the melee and started flinging the other Wilderings aside, killing them with an efficiency that made Fitzsimmons wonder if these were reinforcements that had been sent by the Council.

But that was impossible. No one was supposed to know they were here.

Finally, the newly arrived vampires surrounded them. The Wilderings gave up the battle at that point, wandering away as if their bloodthirst had been diverted toward the humans at the center of town once again.

Out of the ranks of newcomers, a young man emerged––no, not a young man, a boy. He saluted them. “Welcome to Crescent City, Councilor Fitzsimmons.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“They call me Hoss,” the boy said. “I am the leader of the local faction of the Council of Vampires.”

Local faction?
Fitzsimmons wondered
. What local faction? This is the middle of nowhere.

“We’re not official, of course, though I hope you’ll give us your sanction. But I’ve been reading up on you, councilor, and I want you to know I fully endorse your policy of strict adherence to the Rules of Vampire.”

“How old are you, son?”

“I’m thirteen years old, sir.”

“No,” Fitzsimmons said impatiently. “I can see that’s your physical age. I meant, how long have you been vampire?”

Hoss looked confused. “Uh… seven days?”

Fitzsimmons was struck dumb. This child had the manner of a centuries-old vampire, and seemingly the wisdom as well.

“Seven days?” Peterson laughed. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“Shut up, Peterson,” Fitzsimmons snapped. This was a prodigy, obviously. Once in a generation, there was a Wildering who understood instinctively what to do. He ought to know: he’d been such a phenomenon himself––which made this young man a potential rival. Fitzsimmons wondered if this was some kind of setup. He’d been nervous about coming back to America. He’d spent decades here late in the last century, until a particularly bothersome vampire hunter had chased him out of the country.

He wouldn’t put it past Agent Feller to have set a trap for him.

But, Fitzsimmons realized, he wouldn’t do it through vampires. Feller would kill any vampire he saw; it would never occur to him to use them as bait.

For now, this wunderkind seemed to be impressed by the Council of Vampires for some reason.

Hoss frowned. “Where’s Terrill? I was looking forward to meeting him.”

Fitzsimmons ignored the question. Until he knew what this “local faction” represented, he wasn’t going to talk about Terrill. “How did you know we were coming?” he demanded. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

“A secret?” Hoss said. “Then perhaps you’d better improve your security.”

Peterson laughed. “Clarkson would’ve loved to have heard that.”

“Dammit, Peterson, keep your mouth shut.” Fitzsimmons was thinking furiously. Perhaps these local vampires could be of use. “I’ve come all the way from England to track down the vampire who started this outbreak,” he said.

“Her name is Jamie,” Hoss agreed.

“So you know of her? Can you help us find her?”

Hoss puffed up and put on a proud smile. “I already have her in custody, sir.”

“You have her?”

“Yes, sir. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her.”

“You amaze me, young man. By all means, lead the way.”

Hoss turned and waved his troops into an honor guard formation, placing Fitzsimmons and Peterson in the middle. As they marched away, Peterson whispered to his boss, “What about Terrill?”

“I’m betting that if anyone knows where he’s gone, it will be his progeny, Jamie,” Fitzsimmons said.

“You’d better hope so,” Peterson muttered. “If Terrill goes against us, we’ll lose the support of the Council. I hate to think what our enemies will do to us then.”

“Our enemies had best worry about
us
,” Fitzsimmons said. “The Council doesn’t matter––only the power it gives us.”

#

As they made their way through the town, they saw nothing but chaos. There were no humans to be seen, except the dead bodies littering the streets. Wilderings milled about in aimless bands.

There was a full-on pitched battle going on somewhere inland, but Hoss was leading them in a different direction, toward the beach. The troops marched up to an abandoned motel and stopped.

“This way,” Hoss motioned.

Fitzsimmons and Peterson followed him to a boarded-up restaurant attached to the motel.

Hoss knocked on the door. “It’s me,” he said. “Open up, Pete.”

The door flew open. A large teenager was standing there, and behind him was a smaller teen. Both of them held clubs and looked ready to defend themselves until they saw Hoss and relaxed.

The vampires inside the restaurant were a sorry-looking group. The younger people seemed to be in charge; the older-looking vampires appeared dispirited, as if not quite sure they liked being what they were. At least the young vampires looked excited.

Fitzsimmons was just inside the door when he noticed someone at the back of the group. He stepped back. “Hoss!” he exclaimed. “You have a vampire hunter in your midst!”

“Not any more,” Hoss said. “Feller’s been Turned.”

Fitzsimmons was impressed. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. Feller had been the most fanatical vampire hunter in history. It was amazing that he’d allowed himself to be Turned.

Feller stepped forward, extending his hand. “Fitzsimmons. I apologize. I had no idea what this was like––how wonderful it is. I was wrong the whole time.”

Well, well,
Fitzsimmons thought.
Finally, an adult.
Feller would know everything there was to know about vampire hunter operations and techniques. He’d be invaluable.