The Blood Gospel (37 page)

Jordan lashed out with his Bowie knife, slicing across the creature’s throat. Blood burst from the wound, but the bat’s bulk still struck at him, knocking him back a step. He had come close to decapitating the beast in a single blow. Still, leathery wings tried to fold around him. Claws dug at his body, but the thick skin of his duster protected him.

Finally, death claimed the creature, and it fell away.

Jordan turned to find a hellish winged fury sweeping in a dark tide from three directions, breaking upon the triad in front. Each Sanguinist faced a different tunnel.

Erin stood in the center of them, her face a mask of terror.

Jordan ducked to her side, ready to defend her as devoutly as the trio.

Bats now swirled overhead in a shadowy cluster of wings, claws, and glowing eyes. The horde held back for the moment, possibly smelling the blood of their foul brothers, hearing their death cries.

Even now, the shrill squeaks set Jordan’s teeth to aching.

He tried to find a single animal to focus on, but they darted back and forth too quickly.

Erin shone her light above. The bats shied from the beam, swooping away, as if it stung—and maybe the brightness did.

“
Vespertilionidae
,” she gasped, as if the word were an incantation. “Vesper bats. Never seen them more than a tenth of this size.”

“How do you—”

“I work in caves a lot,” she explained.

Her light jumped back and forth. Each time it struck a bat’s eyes, the animal retreated.

“They’re never aggressive like this.”

Jordan pointed his submachine gun up, the beam from the weapon scattering them, too. “Because you work around normal bats, not friggin’ tainted ones.”

“They’re regrouping faster each time.” Erin spoke like an objective researcher, but her voice was pitched an octave higher than usual. “They’re growing accustomed to the light.”

“Let them come.” Nadia had pulled off her silver chain belt and held it in one gloved hand. She fingered each silvery link like the beads of a rosary. “Waiting is wearing to my nerves.”

“Patience,” Rhun said. “Let’s walk farther ahead, search for a door, somewhere to shelter. Perhaps they won’t attack.”

“If you can,” Erin suggested, “look for a door on the
right
side of the passageway, something that might lead into the
center
of the Odal diamond.”

Jordan had to hand it to her. Even shrouded within a black cloak of shrieking death, she never took her eye off the ball. She still sought the treasure that was hidden in the bunker.

Emmanuel took a step forward, one hand upraised. A dagger glinted from his fist.

Nadia moved next to him, weight balanced, graceful as a ballerina.

Together, the five of them made slow progress down the tunnel, all eyes intent on the bats massed above them.

Jordan longed to fire his weapon, but he was worried about ricochets, and concerned, too, about provoking the bats. He remembered Nadia’s earlier warning that bullets would not kill them. Their best chance lay in reaching—

Without a sound, the bats dove.

Again, they ignored the Sanguinists and zeroed in on the pair at the center of the triad.

They came for Erin’s face.

And Jordan’s.

Overhead, Nadia twirled her belt. Jordan now recognized it as a silver chain whip. With her preternatural speed and strength, she wielded the weapon like it was a Cuisinart. Bats who came too close were shredded and torn apart.

Learning its lesson, the horde retreated.

Nadia’s whip caught one last straggler across its gray back, snagging the creature from the air and smashing it against the concrete wall.

Meanwhile, Rhun and Emmanuel kept the path open ahead, continuing to fight through the shadowy forms with silver blades in both hands.

Jordan defended the rear as best he could with his Bowie knife. The high-pitched shrieking stabbed his ears. Despite the protection of his leather duster, his hands and face bore countless scratches.

It now seemed as if for every bat taken down, two took its place.

Erin plunged her knife into the belly of one that slipped past Jordan. Its sharp caninelike fangs snapped closed by her nose before it thudded to the floor.

Jordan grabbed another bat as it tried to fly past, its skin cold and dry, like a dead lizard. He swallowed revulsion and slashed at it with his knife. It pivoted its muscle-bound neck and sank its teeth into the fleshy part of his thumb. Pain shot up his arm.

He slammed his hand against the concrete wall, once, twice, three times, but the bat’s teeth stayed firm. It would not knock loose. He felt teeth scrape bone, threatening to take off his thumb. Blood ran down the inside of his coat to his elbow. Another bat glanced off the side of his head, opening up a stinging wound across his temple.

Erin came to his aid. She grasped the bat attached to his hand by its ears. She thrust her knife under its chin and drew the blade downward. Black blood sprayed the wall, and the teeth finally let go.

“Forward!” Rhun called from a step away—which at the moment felt like an impassible distance. “A door ahead! To the right!”

Emmanuel drove forward, leading the charge. Bats flew at Emmanuel’s face, his neck, his hands. But they seemed reluctant to bite him, not that the tall man didn’t sustain wounds. His entire form dripped blood, his blond hair black with it.

Another of the horde reached past Jordan’s tiring arm. Fangs locked onto his wrist. They didn’t seem to have any problem biting
him
.

Rhun’s knife flashed through the air, slicing through wings and fur, freeing him.

But the bats never slowed.

Jordan’s arm trembled, weakening—and still the bats came.

October 27, 5:39
A.M
., CET

Harmsfeld, Germany

Bathory knelt beside the fog-shrouded Bavarian lake.

Her finger touched drag marks left in the mud. Something wide and heavy had been hauled along the bank here—and recently. Water had seeped in to fill the lines, but no leaves or pine needles marred the surface; nor animal tracks.

Straightening, she motioned for her troops to stay back while she circled the area where the boat had entered the water. She counted footprints, recognizing American military boots, a set of Converse sneakers, and three others in handmade boots, two large and one small. Judging by the depth of the impressions, she guessed two women and three men.

But Bathory hated to make assumptions.

She followed the tracks to the water’s edge. She peered into the gauzy fog, but could see no farther than a few yards, cursing the mountain mists. Earlier, she’d almost missed Rhun and his companions as they fled under the cloak of fog. Until the roar of the motorcycle engines gave them away.

She turned to her second in command. “Do you hear anything, Tarek?”

He cocked his head to the side as if listening. “Not a heartbeat out there.”

But was he telling the truth, or was he lying to keep her from finding the book?

Magor?
she cast out silently.

The wolf pawed the ground and ducked his head. He also heard nothing. She patted his warm flank. Her vehicle had been no match for speeding motorcycles across this harsh terrain. It had taken Magor’s nose to track her quarry this far. While the wolf’s keen senses had served her well, he was no more able to sense across water than she was able to see in fog.

She studied the smooth lake again. It seemed that the Sanguinists had procured a boat and had a good head start.

That presented a new challenge.

“Tarek, bring up a map of the lake.”

He handed her his cell with a satellite picture. The lake had no islands. So either the Sanguinists had used the boat to cross to the other side, or they had searched for something underwater. A problem, as she had no boat, nor any idea of where to steal one. Searching would waste precious time.

Tarek growled deep in his throat, impatient.
Strigoi
hated to wait. The others caught his insolence and shifted from foot to foot.

She stared him down until he fell silent—then commanded him for good measure: “Disable the motorcycles. But stay within hearing.”

Magor slumped to his haunches next to her, his reddish-golden eyes staring across the water. She rested her free hand atop his head, then returned her gaze to the on-screen image. Perhaps she could learn why the Sanguinists had chosen this place.

She zoomed in on the satellite image and scrolled around to view the terrain surrounding the lake. The picture had been taken in summer. Dark green trees obscured the ground. No clearings seemed significant.

“The bikes won’t run again,” Tarek called.

“Good,” she answered. When they returned, the Sanguinists would have no quick way to escape.

She zoomed in tighter on the map, her eye caught by a long straight line of lighter green. The trees were different in this spot. Did that mean water? Or were the trees younger? She connected that line with another line, then another, almost too faint to see.

She smiled at her own brilliance as she recognized the pattern.

It was a corner of the design depicted on the Nazi medallion. The rest appeared to extend
under
the lake.

So that’s why they came out here.

In her mind’s eye, she completed the shape of the rune. On the screen, she ran one long fingernail around the diamond shape. She realized something of great interest. The two legs of the rune—one stretched and ended
under
the lake, but the other ran underground and terminated on the far side of the hill across the lake. The terrain maps showed that area to be heavily wooded. No man-made structures, just trees and boulders, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t still buried there.

She glanced to her small army, a force strong enough to dig for hours without tiring. She had to take the gamble. She stared across the lake to the distant hills.

If she was right, this subterranean vault might have a
back
door.

October 27, 5:48
A.M
., CET

Beneath Harmsfeld Lake, Germany

In the echo chamber of the cavernous concrete tunnels, Rhun’s senses swam and wavered, as if he were fighting underwater. Ultrasonic shrieking tore into his skull. The flurry of beating wings and writhing bodies, splattered with a rain of blood, made it near impossible to focus.

But he fought through the noise by concentrating on one face: scared, bloodied, and fierce.

Erin Granger.

Rhun reached her and swatted a bat away from her chest with all the strength in his arm, cracking hollow bones and crushing the creature’s face. Although Erin’s long jacket continued to protect all but her hands and head, he watched the frantic thrum of her heartbeat in her throat, heard the gasp of her breath. Their group could not last much longer.

Erin twirled before him, struggling with another icarops that clung to her back, clawing its way toward her neck.

Her flashlight jerked as she struggled, illuminating curtains of bats overhead.

Thousands.

He grabbed her, threw her across his back, and shouldered her through the dark doorway, where Emmanuel was fighting with his blade. At his side, Nadia danced amid a shimmer of whirling silver death.

“Get the soldier inside!” Rhun yelled to his sister of the cloth.

He dropped Erin roughly, deliberately, onto her back, crushing the icarops with a sharp squeal and a wash of blood. The soldier skidded across the floor next, protected by his own leathers. He rolled to bash a bat from his shoulder with his flashlight, then finished with a sharp blow of the butt of his gun.

A reverberating crash behind Rhun shook the air, telling him that Nadia had slammed the door. Emmanuel leaned his back against it. The room was square, small, but secure for the moment. An open archway at the rear of the room led into yet another chamber, but Rhun heard no heartbeats, no movement. The air smelled dead and still, tainted by old guano.

They should be safe for a few moments.

Nadia finished clearing the smattering of bats that had made it into the room with them.

The wooden door muffled the squealing of the bats outside, but claws continued to scrabble and teeth to gnaw as the horde fought to reach them.

Rhun understood that desire. Erin’s heartbeat continued fast but strong. Next to her the soldier’s heart still raced. The fragrance of blood wafting from her and the soldier threatened to overpower him.

He took a step back, away from the bleeding pair.

Erin stood and stumbled to Jordan’s side. “Are you hurt?”

He still sat on the ground. “Just my pride,” he said. “Give it a minute.”

“Did the Belial do this?” Erin turned toward Rhun, bringing with her another drift of blood scent.

He swallowed and retreated another step.

Nadia answered, wiping her chain across her thigh before securing it back around her waist like a belt. “It would take years to make that many
blasphemare
. It was not those who hunted you in Masada who made these creatures.”