by Tanith Frost
Despite what must amount to a case of mental whiplash, he sounded fine on the phone with Miranda. Not excited or relieved. That’s Daniel, though. All business when shit needs doing. And Miranda came through for us, ordering the searches Daniel requested, locating a remote airfield not marked on any maps.
And we may have just made it. The craft looks like a regular mid-sized passenger plane, but it’s been converted with a larger door into the passenger area to allow them to load long wooden crates. They’re preparing the last of them for transport now. From our position beside the runway, the open cargo doors below are visible, still open. The humans are all busy above and ahead.
“Shall we?” I ask.
“Now or never, I suppose.”
We run at a crouch, darting through the shadows, keeping out of sight until we’ve reached the loading door. Noise is less of a concern; the engines are running, drowning out footsteps and voices. They’ve moved their rickety old ramp slightly away from the door, but we take it anyway—the jump is short enough and easier than attempting to climb.
So far, so good. The humans seem oblivious to our presence, and aside from dozens of crates, the space seems to be empty.
For now, at least. We’re going to need a hiding place, and soon.
Daniel scouts ahead, weaving between the crates that are stacked three high and four across, forming close-set islands of cargo held in place by nets attached to the floor. Whatever it is, they’re hauling a lot of it; we only saw them load a few of the boxes into the passenger area, but there have to be fifty or sixty here in the cargo hold.
I brush a finger over the rough wooden planks of a crate that’s stamped with DEER LAKE in thick black paint.
Swan Lake. Nice try, Billy. At least we know we’re heading in the right direction even if this is the wrong plane.
They’re an odd shape, these boxes. Only a few feet wide and high, but about six long. Almost like…
I squeeze my eyes closed and focus everything in me on perceiving powers that might betray the presence of vampires, but whatever’s in the boxes isn’t giving me anything. At least there’s that.
Daniel motions to me from behind a stack of crates, and I follow him toward the front of the plane, then to our left when we reach a wall with a door in the centre. He’s found a small counter with cupboards above and below. It’s hardly larger than a kitchen island, but once we’ve moved a few boxes out and hidden them behind a stack of crates, it looks as if we can both fit if we squeeze in. It’ll be tight, though.
I’m about to go looking for another spot when voices reach me from the rear of the cargo hold. Daniel folds his long limbs into our hiding spot, and I fit myself around him, wedging my legs between his and pulling myself into a tight ball, knees to chin, shuffling over so he can pull the doors closed.
The voices are muffled, their presence brief. Both human. That would be good news if they found us, but it does nothing to reassure me that we’re on the right flight. If Billy was telling the truth about a plane flying from here to Newfoundland, surely it would at least be carrying some troops, if not Lachlan himself.
“I don’t feel any vampires,” I say. I’m not whispering. There’s no chance of anyone hearing me.
“Should you if they’re in the cabin?”
“I guess not.”
A dull clang rings through the cargo hold, and the sound of the engines becomes muffled.
Daniel shifts slightly. “Too late to change our minds, anyway.”
The plane lurches and rolls forward. I close my eyes and focus on the movement, the momentum, the vibrations of the floor beneath us. We’re airborne. Those loud thunks are probably the landing gear coming up. Nothing to worry about, but it all feels so unstable, so primitive and dangerous down here compared to my experiences flying as a proper passenger when I was alive.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Bit cramped. If those humans are gone, we should be able to get out to stretch and take a look around.”
That’s not at all what I meant, and I think he knows it. I want to know why he hasn’t said a word about what happened last night, why he locked the bathroom door when he showered before we left the cabin. I’m glad he’s focused on our mission, but I suspect he’s using it to avoid more personal problems. Daniel’s one of the strongest vampires I’ve ever met… I just hope this isn’t a case where giants fall harder than lesser beings.
We level off after a few minutes, and Daniel pushes the catch inside the cupboard door to release us. The plane shudders as he’s finding his footing, so I grab his arm to steady him.
He pulls away, then glances down at me. He must catch something in my expression—my confusion, concern, or the twinge of hurt that I have no right to feel—and mutters a quick thank-you accompanied by a thin smile that does little to ease my mind. We’re on the job now and should keep things professional, but it wasn’t so long ago that he’d have taken any excuse for physical contact, letting my touch linger longer than was necessary.
Wounds don’t heal overnight, I remind myself. And he’s used to licking them on his own. If he needs space, there’s no point taking it personally.
“You want to stay here and get some rest?” I ask.
He shakes his head and makes his way between the stacks of boxes.
A single row of dim lights illuminates the space, leaving deep shadows between the crates. But it’s enough to read by, and every box is stamped with a location. I start at the back of the plane and find eight marked for Deer Lake, but I can’t read what’s on those trapped next to the wall.
Daniel approaches, stepping over and between the nets holding everything in place. “This should make things easier.” He holds up a clipboard with several sheets of printed paper. “Shipping manifest… sort of.”
“Any indication of what’s in the boxes?”
“Unfortunately, no. And no information on who’s sending or receiving them, either. But every page lists a location and a series of—” He pauses and looks over the crate at eye-level beside him. “Here. Each one has a four-digit code.”
“Which means someone’s making doubly sure they all get to the right place, I guess. But that doesn’t tell us anything if we don’t know what’s in them.”
I look past the crates, taking in the interior of the plane. It’s unusual—at least, I think it is. I haven’t spent much time in cargo holds before. The fact that it feels pressurized doesn’t surprise me, but the temperature does. It’s cool, but comfortable. Even the humidity feels as it would above. Less unpleasantly dry than most planes, actually. Not luxurious surroundings, but controlled.
A soft banging noise echoes through the space. Daniel sets the clipboard on the floor, and without another word, we move deep into the shadows and crouch between two stacks beside the plane’s outer wall. A click, a thump, and a creak follow from toward the plane’s nose.
The door. They must have access from above.
Daniel rests his forearms on his knees, appearing relaxed save for the stony chill in his eyes and the way he’s balled his hands into fists.
The faint, familiar scent of our prey species touches the air. I’d have known our visitor was human without it, though. His footsteps are too heavy and graceless to belong to a vampire.
And he’s whistling. I catch a glimpse of him as he passes our hiding spot—short, balding, dressed in navy-blue pants and shirt.
When he reaches the rear of the plane, the whistling stops. I tense, ready for a fight if we’ve been found out, but the human turns and walks back in the direction he came from. Still, I don’t relax until the door has groaned shut again.
“Security check?” Daniel asks.
“Seems like it. I don’t think he did anything else while he was down here. That gives us what, twenty minutes between patrols?”
“If they’re that organized about it. We might have more if he was just making sure nothing shifted during takeoff. Less if there’s more to it than that.” He frowns at the crates. �
��You’d still feel vampires if they were sleeping in there, right?”
My stomach tightens.
“It would be a lot harder,” I admit. “But yeah, I should get something. Besides, this would be a weird way to ship them. I can’t imagine a vampire consenting to be transported in such an undignified manner. Look. They’re nailed shut.”
The sardonic lift of Daniel’s left eyebrow is a welcome glimpse of his usual self. “Because Lachlan is known for caring about the desires and comforts of less-important members of his clan?”
I shake my head. “It’s a nighttime flight. They’d be awake. Unless…” I shrug. “Only one way to find out what’s in there, I guess. You didn’t happen to find a crowbar while you were looking around, did you?”
“I did, in fact. Just over our cozy little hiding spot. See whether you can find any crates that look more accessible than these ones.”
There’s only one obvious spot, a stack of eight crates marked for Marystown stacked only two deep. The netting holding them down is attached to the floor with heavy carabiners—sturdy, but easy enough to remove so I can expose the top boxes before I climb onto them.
When Daniel returns with the crowbar and a large rubber mallet, I nod toward the rear of the plane. “The human took the clipboard.”
“Eight to Marystown, ten to Corner Brook, thirteen to Twillingate, seven to Stephenville, thirteen to Gander… I could go on.” He glances around at the boxes that surround us, then wedges the crowbar under the lid of the box closest to him. “About seventy in total, which means the list includes what they’ve got stowed above. Knowing that should give us an advantage, whatever else happens.”
“Assuming we’re not on the wrong plane and these boxes aren’t full of ramen noodles or party supplies, sure. Hang on.”
He freezes as if he thinks I’ve heard something. It’s not that, though.
It’s the smell. Faint and familiar. Sulphurous, but sweet.
My mouth goes dry. “Go ahead,” I whisper. “Slowly.”
He makes quick work of it. There are no locks or mechanisms to hold the crates closed besides hinges along one side and a few nails along the other—whoever packed them is interested in keeping them safe, not worried about containing whatever is within. And there’s nothing moving inside, even when Daniel makes enough space for light to enter through the crack.
I wish that made me feel better.
He glances up at me, and I nod. He braces the heels of his hands under the lid and pushes up, and I catch it before it can swing up and hit me in the shins.
When I look down into the box, my knees go weak.
They’re not crates. They’re coffins, each one holding not a vampire, but a human body. Not breathing, not living, but I don’t imagine they’re truly dead. The burns on this one, bad enough that the skin on the face is charred black in places, mark him as one of those that chased Daniel and me as we escaped Tempest’s stronghold.
Whatever Tempest’s plan is, their secret weapon isn’t vampires.
It’s an army of zombies.
3
At least he’s not moving. Small blessing, but I’ll grab at anything at the moment.
Daniel looks the body over for a few seconds, then glances around at the dozens of similar crates that surround us. “What are the odds that the others actually are all filled with ramen noodles and party supplies?”
I want to be glad that he’s attempting a joke, but I can’t muster even a forced smile. “How many did you say?”
“Around seventy total. Far more than we saw in that room last night.”
Neither of us dares touch the body. We don’t know what’s keeping it still, or what will wake it up. The faint chill of the cargo hold seems to penetrate to my bones, and I shiver. I don’t feel anything from these creatures—not life, not void, not any other power that would identify them as anything but garden-variety corpses. If I hadn’t seen them myself, running and snapping and clawing, I’d find it hard to believe this one would ever open its eyes again.
But I have no doubt it will. Unless Lachlan’s plan is to do a fly-over cargo drop of flash-barbecued human flesh, these things will be on the move again soon enough.
Daniel checks the watch he took from the cabin, a heavy chrome affair that looks as if its owner can probably afford a replacement. “We’d better get this cleaned up if we want to be hidden before the next patrol.”
There’s a question there. Do we want to be hidden? It’s not our only option.
I push the lid back toward him, and he eases it down, hiding the horror within, and passes me the mallet. A few quick hits set the nails back in place before I lower myself to the floor and help resecure the net. Everything looks the same as it did a few minutes ago, though everything has changed.
My mind races as we make our way back to our cramped hiding spot beneath the counter. We leave the doors open, unwilling to cram ourselves in before we have to, and sit side by side with our feet on the floor.
“It doesn’t make sense.” I push my hair back from my face and slump against the wall. “These things aren’t soldiers. They barely seem conscious. Even if Lachlan can control them, even if other vampires can control them, they’re not going to be more effective than vampires against Maelstrom.”
“More disposable, maybe?” Daniel shakes his head, answering his own question. “I don’t suspect Lachlan would be too put out about losing any number of lower-ranking clan members if it gets him what he wants. We do know that these things are vampire-aggressive, though. That they won’t stop once the attack has begun even if it means they don’t survive.”
“Especially then, maybe,” I add, remembering the lightless human who beat his own head in trying to get at Bethany and me, and the ones willing to blow themselves up when it seemed their only way out. I doubt a little thing like death has altered their desire to end their misery, and battling against vampires would be an effective way to end things. “So what, then? The vampires are coming on another plane, and these are… cannon fodder? A weird kind of weapon?”
Daniel frowns at the stack of boxes in front of us marked for Corner Brook. “And why multiple attack sites when we’re all in town? The threats to secrecy alone would be…” He turns to me.
Fuck.
“He wouldn’t,” I say, so quietly Daniel probably has to lip-read to understand me over the sound of the plane’s engines. “Lachlan thinks he has a rightful claim to these lands. He’s not going to risk pissing off other clans by exposing all of us—not when he’s going to need their support if he’s planning to come in and take over.” But the words ring hollow even as I speak them. I press my palms to my forehead, willing my thoughts to organize themselves better. “He’s going to frame Miranda, isn’t he? Make it look like something she couldn’t handle has popped up on the island—”
“And then he gets to swoop in and fix everything,” Daniel finishes. “And once he’s proved to everyone that Miranda isn’t a competent or trustworthy leader, the door will be open for him to take what he thinks should have been his all along.”
I slam my fists against the bottom of the cupboard. It doesn’t help in the slightest. “It’s a good plan, isn’t it?”
“Better than I’d have anticipated.” Daniel’s eyes are sharp and watchful as he thinks it through. “It’s one that could only work against Miranda and Maelstrom. Every other clan, as far as I know, has been committed to crushing threats to secrecy. Miranda does that when she needs to, but she doesn’t always toe the line.”
“Like with the werewolves,” I say. “No one’s happy about her setting them free. Half of her own clan is pissed about it.”
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Half seems conservative. But you’re right. Even if she’s had her reasons for doing it, Miranda has been playing a dangerous game for more than a century. Relations with foreign clans have been cordial, but often tense, and no one has hidden their disapproval of her methods. Lachlan likely thought he just had to wait for her to fuck up.”
I nod. Lachlan said as much to me, himself. “But she hasn’t yet, even if she’s had a few close calls. She’s got her systems in place, her Department of Unnatural Resources trained to recognize and contain all known threats before they expose us. So he comes in with a new one that’s a complete surprise to her but that he knows how to handle. He gets to look like a fucking hero when he takes care of things.”
“And no one has any reason to think Miranda’s failure is anything but the inescapable outcome of her gambling with our secrets.” There’s a hint of admiration in Daniel’s voice.
I guess, objectively, it is at least a little impressive. I just wish we had something as good up our sleeve.
The thunk of the metal door opening signals that it’s time to shut ourselves away. Daniel and I resume our positions, backs to the walls, legs scrunched between us, and pull the doors closed. We don’t have to hold our breath, but it feels as if that’s exactly what we’re doing as we sit silent and motionless, waiting to see whether we’ve covered our tracks well enough. This human moves more quietly than the first, and it’s only when we hear the door close again that we relax.
“What happens now?” I ask.
Daniel stands and steps between two stacks of crates, and I follow. “Option one as I see it is to grab whatever tools we can find, open some crates, and destroy Tempest’s weapons. All they’ll have then is a bunch of bodies to dump.”
“We could. But there’ll be no way to hide what we’ve done. And we don’t have time or space to unstack and pry open every crate, not to mention the fact that a security guard will be down to check while we’re in the middle of our work.”