The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (15 page)

Snapped out of their shock, Bannon and Pantolini drew their weapons and fired up the tunnel.

Hearing the gunfire
emanating from the sewer, and the occasional whiz of a stray round as it entered the basement, Jim crawled over to the tunnel and cautiously peered over the rim. He saw three policemen down below firing away uselessly at the vampire. Unless he did something, they had at best a minute left to live.

Jim grabbed his satchel bag and crawled over to a relatively fresh corpse only a yard from the tunnel entrance. He tried to lift one of its arms, but rigormortis had locked the limb in place. Placing a knee on its shoulder for leverage, Jim yanked up on the arm until it gave way with a loud crack. He ran the strap of the bag under the arm, wrapped it once around its neck, and secured the bag’s flap. Grabbing the corpse by its armpits, he dragged it over to the tunnel, sending a swarm of cockroaches scurrying from underneath the body. Once at the tunnel opening, Jim depressed the detonator caps on the two bottles of Heaven’s Fire, grasped the corpse by its shirt, and tossed it into the tunnel. Before standing back from the opening, Jim yelled, “Fire down below!”

Due to the rigormortis, the corpse sailed down the tunnel like a bullet. The vampire turned to face this threat, bracing itself for impact. It was caught off guard when the Heaven’s Fire ignited and the corpse erupted into a fireball. Homemade napalm engulfed it, searing flesh and muscles, while the crystallized holy water melted into its tissue, increasing the agony of its death throes. The corpse slammed into the vampire and ripped it off of the tunnel wall, propelling it along until the two vomited out of the tunnel into the sewer.

The vampire struggled to rise, but only made it as far as its knees. Much of the skin and muscles already had burned off, revealing charred bone beneath. It flung its head back, crying out a final time before crumbling into a flaming pile of ash.

“Wh-what the fuck just happened?” asked Pantolini.

“I don’t know,” Rodriguez lied. “But be on alert in case there’s any more of them up there.”

Drake gathered up
his Glock, then he and Alison crawled along the bedroom floor until they entered the landing. They raced toward the stairwell, using the wall as cover. Looking out into the foyer, they realized that getting out would be a hell of a lot more dangerous than getting in. The suppressing fire being laid down by the police peppered the front of the row house, punching holes in the wall and blowing out the painted-over windows. Sunlight streamed in, clearing the foyer of any undead. But the barrage of bullets made any chance of escaping down the stairs without getting hit virtually impossible.

“What do we do now?”

“Pray there’s a back door,” answered Drake.

A creaking off to their right attracted the hunters’ attention. They turned as a fourth vampire charged from the room at the end of the corridor. It was small and dressed in clothes that a teenager would wear, probably a runaway from the streets who had run afoul of the nest. Drake aimed his Glock, but Alison placed a hand over the barrel and pushed it down. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out the can of holy water-laced mace, and sprayed its contents into the vampire’s eyes. It howled and thrashed back and forth, its shoulders punching holes in the wall. Sticking its talons into its eye sockets, the vampire dug out its eyes to end the pain.

Alison handed Drake the Remington with her right hand, while with her left she reached under his leather jacket and removed a stake from its pouch. She drove the stake into the vampire’s abdomen, aiming it upward toward the heart, but not driving it in all the way. Clutching its throat in her right hand, Alison spun it toward the stairway.

“Follow me, and stay close.”

“Wait.” Drake unslung the satchel bag from his shoulder. Reaching under the flap, he pressed the detonator cap on each bottle of Heaven’s Fire, and then tossed the bag down the corridor and through the open door of the room at the far end. The bag fell to the floor with the muffled shattering of glass bottles. A few seconds later, the caps detonated, igniting the home-made napalm and engulfing the room in flames.

“Now I’m ready.”

Alison stepped out of the corridor and onto the stairs. As she descended, she maneuvered the vampire into the direction of the gunfire, using it as a shield. It struggled, but between its small stature, its wounds, and the stake imbedded in its chest, it put up only minimal resistance. Every few seconds a bullet would punch into its body, causing it to cry out and spasm. Each bullet absorbed by the vampire meant one less they had to worry about.

Drake stayed close behind Alison, his hands on her hips, helping to guide her. The most dangerous moment came when the staircase crossed by the front windows because here the gunfire was heaviest. Drake and Alison crouched low and raced by as fast as they could, dragging along the undead. One bullet grazed Drake’s left leg, taking a chunk out of the flesh. A second bullet shattered against the vampire’s ribcage, with a fragment of metal ricocheting out of its chest and striking Alison in the forehead.

The hunters finally reached the main level and backed away toward the kitchen. Once in the doorway leading out of the foyer, Alison stopped dragging the vampire. She shoved the stake up into its heart. As it bled out and disintegrated, the hunters disappeared into the kitchen.

A second, less intense barrage of gunfire greeted them from the police stationed behind the row house. Drake placed his hands on Alison’s head and back, bent her over, and rushed her toward the cellar stairs, putting himself between her and the bullets.

Jessica watched the
attack unfold, all the while worrying about Drake. Stewart stood beside her, taking photographs. He stopped just long enough to point toward the roof. “Looks like the police pulled a Waco.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s black smoke coming from the building. The police must’ve set the place on fire.”

As if on cue, Preston stepped out of the command center and approached Roach, bringing his attention to the smoke.

“Fuck!” Roach watched as the smoke grew in intensity. “Call up the fire units and send them in. Have a SWAT team accompany them inside in case there’s trouble.”

“Yes, sir.” Preston went back to the command center to issue the orders.

As Drake and
Alison rushed down the stairs, Jim spun around to face them, the crossbow aimed and at the ready.

“Hold on, Jim! It’s just us!”

“It’s about time.” Jim lowered the crossbow.

“Any visitors?”

“Just one. He tried to escape, but I fried him.” Jim motioned toward upstairs. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Looks like the police had the same idea we did.”

“Great. Now what?”

“Now we get out of here.”

Drake headed for the tunnel opening, but Jim stopped him. “Be careful. There are cops down there, too. And they saw the whole thing when I fried the vampire.”

“Thanks.” Drake inched his way up to the edge of the tunnel and yelled down. “Don’t shoot. We’re coming down.”

“Drake?” a voice called out from below. “Is that you?”

“Rodriguez?”

“Why aren’t I surprised to find you involved in this? How many are you?”

“Three.”

“Come on down. We’ll cover you.”

Drake took the one-hundred-foot length of rope and threw the loose end down the opening. He handed it to Jim. “You first.”

Jim dropped his crossbow into the duffel bag and slipped on his gloves. Grabbing the rope, he stepped backward into the tunnel and began his descent.

“You’re next,” Drake said to Alison.

Alison dropped the shotgun into the duffel bag and put on her gloves. “Don’t stay up here too long.”

“I’ll be right on your ass.”

“I wish.” Alison grabbed the rope and lowered herself into the tunnel.

Drake slid on his gloves, zipped up the duffel bag, and slid his left arm through the straps. He waited until Jim reached the sewer and Alison was halfway down before he started his own descent. Three minutes later, he joined the others. He greeted Rodriguez with a nod.

“I suppose we’re under arrest?”

A long pause elapsed as Rodriguez contemplated his answer. Finally, he said, “No.”

Pantolini stepped up behind Rodriguez and spoke in a quiet tone, but not quite enough. “The chief told us to arrest anyone who tried to escape.”

“I know these people. They don’t count.”

“But, sir—”

“But nothing. There’s shit going on here you can’t understand. Now shut up.”

Rodriguez escorted Drake a few yards down the sewer in the opposite direction from which they came in. “Head this way. There’s an access ladder about five hundred yards down that leads to the street. We don’t have any units there, so you’ll have no problem getting out.”

Drake motioned with his head toward the other policemen. “What about them? Won’t they rat you out?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll do what I tell them.”

“Thanks.” Drake offered his hand. “I owe you one.”

“Good.” Rodriguez shook Drake’s hand, but did not release the grip. “Then tell me what the hell attacked us back there.”

“Are you sure you want an answer?”

“Yes.”

“You were attacked by a vampire.”

Drake studied Rodriguez’ face for any indications of disbelief or incredulity. Surprisingly, he saw nothing but acceptance.

“For once, I wish you were lying,” said Rodriguez.

“Me too.”

“Are there any more up there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Thank God for that.” Rodriguez looked over his shoulders at the other hunters. “Get out of here while you still have a chance.”

Drake snapped his fingers to get Alison’s and Jim’s attention, and waved them over. Without another word, the three hunters disappeared into the darkness of the sewer.

A
lison arrived at
the office, physically tired and emotionally drained. The physical exhaustion resulted from yesterday’s foray into the nest. The emotional exhaustion resulted partly from their less than stellar performance, but mostly the result of finding Jessica at Drake’s apartment yesterday morning.

Nor did it help that today’s edition of
The Washington Standard
carried Blondie’s fluff piece about the police raid on the row house. It described both the attack on the sewer workers two days previous and the police raid, relating in detail the shootout with the “armed squatters” who were described as either junkies or vagrants. After a few self-serving quotes from Roach and some of the policemen who participated, the article finished up with a vapid conclusion about how the squatters had somehow eluded the authorities. All pomp and praise for Washington’s finest. Yet not a word about her, Drake, or Jim. Not a hint about what they really faced in the row house. No indication that while two dozen cops shot up an abandoned building from a safe distance, the three of them confronted and cleaned out the nest by themselves.

Jessica got her story and her fling with Drake, so she no longer needed to pretend to be a member of the team, which was why she opted out of any further action.

Bitch.

Alison chucked the newspaper into the trash can where it belonged. She took off her leather greatcoat, hung it up on the coat rack, and went to check on Drake. He had not arrived yet, which did not surprise her. Drake always came in late after engaging the undead. And while he farted around, good ole Alison manned the fort alone.

Not alone, actually. She could hear Jim rummaging around upstairs. She headed up to say hello, and because she wanted someone to talk with.

Alison found Jim bent over his workbench laboring away on something, so involved in his project he did not hear her enter. She smiled. She had grown fond of Jim these past few weeks. He had come to them as an apprehensive teenager, uncertain what he had gotten himself into and afraid of being killed. Now, less than a month later, Jim possessed more than enough confidence and daring to be a hunter. His fighting skills were getting better with every encounter. Although he still had enough common sense to fear getting killed, he was now willing to battle the undead.

“Good morning.”

Jim looked up and offered a half-hearted wave. “Mornin’.”

“You’re here early.”

“No earlier than usual.”

“What are you working on?”

Jim held up a 12-guage round. “Right now I’m stockpiling holy-water rounds for the Glock and Remington so we don’t run out. Long term, I’m trying to figure out a way to kill more of these things quicker. So far everything I’ve come up with has given us an advantage, but they’re still one-on-one weapons. I hope to develop something that will kill them en masse and even the odds a bit.”

“You mean like an ultraviolet bomb?”

Jim chuckled, though good-naturedly. “You’ve been watching too much television. Hollywood can do anything it wants. I’m limited by the laws of physics.”

“So what have you come up with?”

“Nothing, yet. I’ve been wracking my brain for over a week now, but keep drawing a blank.”

“If anyone can do it, you can.”