The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (13 page)

A part of Jessica wondered how much Drake really liked her, or whether he saw her as a momentary distraction from the harsh realities of his life. She could live with that, as long as she did not get too emotionally involved. For now, she chalked it up to Drake wanting to keep his personal and professional lives separate, which would also be a good idea if she wanted to keep her job at
The Standard
.

If she kept telling herself that, she might actually believe it one day.

Jessica was half-way through reading her incoming e-mails when she heard Philips’ gruff voice at the entrance to her cubicle.

“Nice of you to join us.”

“Sorry.” She swung her chair around to face him. “The commute was messed up bec—”

“Save it. You don’t have time. You need to get down to that row of abandoned block houses right away.”

“What’s up?”

“The police are raiding it at noon. They want to round up whoever’s in there and charge them with the murder of that sewer worker.”

Shit
, thought Jessica.
That’s where Drake is heading
.

Philips noted the look of concern on her face. He stepped into the cubicle. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just—”

“Don’t worry. I already cleared this with Chief Roach. He wants you there.”

“You’re joking.”

“You of all people should know I have no sense of humor.” Philips sat on the edge of her desk. “You’re one of the few people who ran across whoever is in that old row house, and he thought you might be helpful.”

“But Drake and Alison got a much better look at them than I did.”

“Now you’re joking.” Philips gave her no time to respond. “Roach wants you there as an advisor, which gives you an advantage over the other journalists. Use that advantage. I want a story on my desk for tomorrow’s edition that’ll make
The Post
and
The Times
green with envy. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” Philips pushed himself off the desk and headed out, then turned to face her. “I assigned Stewart to be your photographer. He’s waiting for you down front with a car, and will take the two of you to the row house. You’ll meet Roach there. Good luck.”

Jessica logged off and gathered her purse and jacket. Two minutes later, she exited the lobby onto the street. Two quick beeps of a car horn caught her attention. Stewart sat in a green Monte Carlo two cars off to her left. He stuck his hand out the driver’s side window and waved to attract her attention. Jessica smiled and held up a forefinger, telling him to wait a minute. Pulling out her cell phone from her jacket pocket, she flipped it open and dialed Drake’s office, only to get the answering machine. Breaking the connection, she then dialed Drake’s cell phone, this time getting the automated message notifying her that the cellular customer she tried to reach did not have his phone on. Damn.

Another blast of the horn, this time longer. Stewart pointed to his watch. Jessica nodded in acknowledgment, closed her cell phone, and headed for the Monte Carlo.

She wished she could have warned Drake, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. With luck, the police would get there before Drake and the others entered the nest.

N
one of the
hunters spoke as they stood underneath the tunnel leading from the sewer to the basement of the abandoned row house. For each of them, it brought back memories of their close call three days ago when they tried to investigate this nest. Depending on what waited for them up there, that could turn out to have been walk in the park.

“Are we ready?” asked Drake as he slid on his leather gloves.

“No,” replied Jim.

“You don’t pay me enough for this shit,” added Alison.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Drake placed the duffel bag with their gear onto the ground, unzipped it, and withdrew the one-hundred-foot length of rope. He draped the coiled rope around his neck and under his left arm. Taking a flashlight from the duffel bag, he switched it on and slid it under the shoulder strap on his leather jacket so the light shone forward. Drake stepped underneath the tunnel. “How about a hand?”

Alison and Jim applauded.

“Great. I’m about to go into battle with Abbott and Costello.” He stood underneath the opening for a few seconds. “Well?”

Alison stepped forward and interlocked her gloved fingers, forming her hands into a makeshift foothold, and crouched. Drake placed his right foot on her hands and lifted himself to the rim of the opening. Alison and Jim each grabbed a leg and lifted him further until he obtained a foothold. Pulling himself up into the tunnel, Drake felt around for a firm grip on the rocks, which was difficult considering they were moist and in many spots covered with moss. Drake eventually got some traction and began the arduous climb, all the while waiting for the anticipated attack from above.

After ten minutes of hard climbing, Drake stopped a few feet from the top rim of the tunnel, propping himself against the wall for support. He removed one of the Glocks from its shoulder holster, switched on the laser/light, and climbed up the last few feet. He peered over the rim, expecting to see a horde of vampires waiting to swarm him. All he saw were several corpses in various states of decomposition.

Reholstering his Glock, Drake crawled into the basement and worked quickly. He looked around until he found a main water pipe not rusted out and sturdy enough to handle a person’s weight, and tied one end of the rope to it. The other end he tossed down the tunnel to the others. Jim climbed up first. Alison tied the end of the rope to the duffel bag before she began her ascent so they could haul it up last before following. Five minutes later, all three hunters stood in the darkened basement.

Drake pulled up the duffel bag, placed it on the basement floor, and unzipped it. Each of the hunters took off their gloves and geared up, starting with a Midland Radio with microphone headset. Jim took the crossbow with laser sight and a satchel bag containing two bottles of Heaven’s Fire. Alison took the Remington and a bandolier of 12-gauge rounds. Drake withdrew a pair of stakes, which he inserted into the pouch inside his leather jacket, and took the second satchel bag with two bottles of Heaven’s Fire, which he draped over his shoulder. Checking each Glock and loading a holy water round into each chamber, he slid one Glock back into his right shoulder holster and switched on the laser/light to the other one.

“Jim, you stay here and guard the tunnel while Alison and I check out the nest.”

“I like that plan,” Jim said enthusiastically.

“Kill anything that tries to get in or out.”

“I don’t like that plan.”

“I’m serious. We’re too close to wiping out this nest to let one slip through now.”

Jim grew somber. “Sure thing, boss.”

“And stay alert. You never know when we’ll have to bug out of here in a hurry.”

“Gotcha.”

Drake patted Jim on the shoulder for reassurance. He used the laser/light on his Glock to illuminate the basement, looking for the way out, and for the first time got a good look at his surroundings. Desiccated and decaying corpses lay scattered across the floor, in particular one shriveled corpse of a young girl in the far corner that looked as it had been drained of blood only a few days ago. The nest was still active.

Turning to Alison, Drake asked, “Ready?”

Alison switched on the laser/light to her shotgun and pulled back on the slide to chamber a round. “Let’s rock.”

A police cordon
had been set up blocking both ends of the street on which sat the abandoned row houses. As Stewart slowed the Monte Carlo, Jessica looked around, amazed at how much fire power had been arranged for a single raid. She counted eleven squad cars, a tactical communications vehicle, and between thirty and forty police officers, a dozen or so replete with body armor and M-16 assault rifles. God only knew how many more were located at the other end of the street or stationed in back of the row houses. It looked as though the police were preparing for war.

A pair of sawhorses blocked their path. A policeman in a yellow and orange reflector vest stepped out from behind the sawhorse and motioned for Stewart to roll down his window. He complied.

The policeman leaned over to look into the car. “This area is off limits to the public.”

“I’m Jessica Reynolds and this is Stewart Niles. We’re with
The Washington Standard
. Captain Roach is expecting us.”

“Do you have identification?”

Jessica and Stewart produced their driver’s licenses and passed them to the policeman, who compared each photograph with its owner. After a few seconds, he ordered, “Wait here.”

The policeman stepped away and turned to one side to speak into the chest-mounted microphone without being overheard. He held up the licenses and read the information off of them. A brief conversation ensued, after which the policeman nodded and came back to the Monte Carlo. He handed back the licenses.

“Captain Roach is waiting for you at the command center, ma’am. Park your vehicle back down the street, then meet him at the tactical communications van.”

Five minutes later, Jessica and Stewart stood outside the tactical command vehicle being used as a command center. Roach chatted with an officer arrayed in full tactical gear. When the officer stepped away, Roach looked over at Jessica. As he came over to greet them, Jessica could tell that he was not happy to see her.

Jessica stepped forward and offered her hand, hoping to disarm him with kindness. “Captain Roach, thank you so much for inviting me.”

Roach did not take the offered hand. “Don’t bother thanking me. The only reason you’re here is because you’ve dealt with these people before. You’re an advisor.”

“That’s unusual,” Stewart said to Jessica. “Usually you’re a suspect.”

Neither Jessica nor Roach appreciated the comment.

“We’ll be moving in when all our units are in place. That should be in a few minutes. So stay close, and stay out of the way.” Roach walked back to the command center.

“You’re well liked,” said Stewart.

“Yeah,” Jessica responded absentmindedly. Right now she cared more about whether or not Drake was all right.

Rodriguez led the
way down the sewer, trying to maintain a calm demeanor for his men, although inside he was as nervous as hell. As he should be. Patterson had given the police a detailed account of the things that murdered his partner and, as unbelievable as it sounded, Rodriguez believed it. He had seen the security camera footage from the morgue the night Dekker had been butchered. He had read the eyewitness reports of the Metro attack. None of the brass gave these accounts any credence, or at least admitted as much in public. Not that it mattered. Rodriguez knew what they were about to face, and it would be far more dangerous than a pack of vagrants or cokeheads.

He looked over his shoulder at the rest of his team. Team? What a fucking laugh. Himself. Mike Bannon, one of the old time street cops. A good cop with too much time in the force and too much fat around his mid-section to still be walking a beat. And Joe Pantolini, the rookie, a kid with more enthusiasm than common sense. The three of them were more than enough for their nominal assignment, which was to arrest anyone who tried to escape the mansion through the tunnel. But if what came down that tunnel was what Rodriguez expected, than his team would be overwhelmed within seconds.

Turning back to the front, Rodriguez continued until they were approximately one hundred feet from the tunnel. He held up his hand to stop his team. Bannon and Pantolini gathered around.

“Listen up. Our job is simple. When the shit goes down up there, we’re to make sure that anything that tries to escape is detained.”

“You mean anyone, right?” asked Bannon.

“Yeah. Anyone.”
Shit, Rodriguez. Watch yourself
. “Take up your positions. I’ll let Roach know we’re ready.”

Drake led the
way up the stairs to the kitchen. He clasped a Glock in his right hand. His wrist rested on top of his left hand, which held a stake pointed forward. The barrel-mounted laser/light lit up the doorknob. He turned to Alison, who stood two steps below him.

“Are you ready?”

“No.” Alison raised the shotgun to eye level and aimed it at the door. “But let’s do it.”

Drake grabbed the doorknob in his left hand and turned it until the latch clicked, and the pushed it open. The creaking hinges rumbled like thunder through the deserted kitchen. He expected a swarm of the undead to descend upon them. Instead, the only movement came from a rat that scurried across the kitchen floor. Drake followed its path along the baseboard of the counter until it disappeared into a gnawed hole in the floorboards.

Drake climbed the last few steps and peered in, swinging the light from one side to the other. The kitchen seemed like any room of an abandoned residence. No furniture. Chipped and faded paint. Cobwebs and layers of dust. Scattered rat droppings. The familiar stale and musty odor of not having been lived in. Only the windows along the opposite wall that had boards nailed over the wooden frames and the glass underneath painted black provided any indication that someone lived here.