Stake

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Nolan insisted, ‘The Bastion saved me, stitched me up, and at least I didn’t turn.’

  Lucius crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her. ‘You see, Miss Tarada?’

  Lexi gathered her thoughts, chose her words carefully. ‘On HideTruth I ask people to keep an open mind about impossible things, and I really mean that. But you can’t just state that vampires or Bigfoot are real and expect people to accept it on your word alone.’

  ‘Bigfoot is not a problem. He’s been taken care of,’ Lucius said.

  Lexi frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ He refused to answer.

  Mama set another speckled enamel cup next to her. ‘Here you are, dear. Some tea. We make it from the forest, pine needles and special herbs.’

  Preoccupied with the bearded man’s story and with what Nolan had showed her, Lexi sipped the tea, tasting pine needles, pungent herbs, a bitter under taste that was not entirely unpleasant. ‘So, you help Simon find possible vampires? He showed me his list. Are you saying I should just take his word that it’s all true? That those names really are vampires?’

  Lucius drew his dark brows together. ‘We are concerned about Simon. This should be a quiet war, or none of us will survive. The general public will never accept the real threat, and Simon’s recent … activities are drawing far too much attention.’

  ‘I think that’s what he wants.’ Lexi took another drink of the tea. ‘He’s trying to expose the vampire threat so that other people join his crusade. That’s why he came to me. He’s trying to enlist me as an ally.’

  ‘The Bastion does not want the attention. We know the police are after him, but we will take care of our own.’ He drew a deep, satisfied breath. ‘I’ve told you what I wanted you to hear. We will watch Simon, and I’ll attempt to rein him in, to minimize our exposure. He is our problem.’

  ‘If you truly believe in vampires, why would you let them continue to prey on innocent people? Why not join Simon and expose as many of them as you can?’

  ‘Vampires will always prey on people. It is foolish to think we can defeat them. In the Bastion, we just want to survive this apocalypse, and we have our best chance out here. I hope you understand.’

  The sun had risen high by now, and Lexi wanted to go home. ‘What was the point of bringing me out here? To show me your camp? Why did you tell me that story?’ She looked around. ‘None of this is incontrovertible evidence that I can present to doubters. At best, it’s hearsay.’

  She felt the headache throbbing even harder, and her vision grew blurry. Lucius leaned closer. ‘Because we need you to understand us, Miss Tarada. And because you are safe, as far as the Bastion is concerned. We know how most people view your site. If you ever decided to reveal our secret and spread our story, nobody would believe you. But at least you know we’re out here.’

  Her instinctive response was indignation, but she felt sluggish. Her ears began ringing and she looked down at her empty speckled cup of special tea. Glancing around the picnic table, she noticed that no one else had taken a cup of tea. The Bastion members were staring at her.

  ‘What did …?’ She swallowed hard, felt that intense under taste, and the world began spinning. They had drugged her again. ‘Bastards!’ she managed to croak before her eyelids drooped shut again.

  Lucius caught her as she slumped forward on to the picnic table.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Arriving at the Rambler Star Motel, Helsing felt soiled with death. Though the long trench coat covered his red-soaked clothes, the blood had seeped through his shirt and pants, making them stick to his skin. The residue from the slain vampire seemed to throb with evil, trying to penetrate his skin.

  He felt nauseated as he parked the old Honda in the parking lot, away from the door to number 41 so no one would associate the car with that room. Several guests were busy packing up their vehicles, checking out of the motel mid-morning.

  He had decided not to decapitate vampires from now on, even though the brutality appealed to him. The first time had been a satisfying experience in the dark shadows of the Monument Creek watershed, when he’d killed Patric Ryan. The vile drug dealer had lured his victims into the quiet privacy of the park by promising them cheap crystal meth. Helsing assumed the vampire fed on them after addicting them. Such a man certainly deserved such a bloody death.

  With Grollin, though, Helsing had taken an unnecessary risk. Normal people were stirring at that time of the morning, going about their business, and he could not be as unobtrusive as he wanted. Someone might see him. Still covered in blood, he had driven away from downtown as quickly as possible, heading to where he could hide, but the traffic was bad. An accident had blocked part of the interstate, forcing him to exit early and use side streets to make his way back to the motel.

  Now he needed to get into the room, quickly. As he climbed out of the car, he pulled the trench coat around him, ducking low and pulling up the collar. Luckily, no one gave him a second look as he hurried to the turquoise door, turned the key, and slipped inside his safe room. The heater thrummed on the wall like a faulty jet engine.

  As his eyes adjusted to the light that filtered through the drawn curtains, he looked around, hyper-alert. Nothing had been disturbed as far as he could tell. The manager generally left the room alone, checking it only occasionally to replace towels and to clean if necessary.

  Helsing pressed his back against the door and let out a long sigh of relief. He was shaking. Then he smiled. It was over, another vampire dead.

  He flicked on the yellow nightstand lamp and tossed the satchel on the end of the bed. He opened it, removed the long knife and hatchet, both crusted with sticky blood, and set them on the desk next to the shotgun-shell re-loader press that was still clamped in place. They would have to be thoroughly washed. He took the time to rewind the electrode wires in the Taser, replaced the charge, then returned the stun gun to the satchel, tucking it next to the Canon 1D X.

  He had four unused wooden stakes and the mallet. The holy water was almost gone, but he still had garlic left. He removed the cross from around his neck, wincing as he pried it loose from drying blood, and dropped the chain into the bag. A vampire killer always had to be ready.

  Despite the mess and the risk, Tom Grollin had posed very little challenge, but the gruesome murder would cause an uproar. Worse, after killing so many vampires, Helsing knew that the rest of the city’s undead would be incensed, especially Hugo Zelm.

  He took out the Taurus Judge and obsessively checked the five small-caliber shotgun shells he had filled with silver fragments. Five shots – reserved for the king vampire, by far the most difficult target. Even with his plan, Helsing wasn’t certain he could escape after killing Zelm, but bravery and audacity might give him a better-than-even chance.

  Helsing’s pulse was racing. He wanted to scrub himself clean in a hot shower, and change into a fresh set of clothes from the closet. Then he would pass as perfectly normal again, ready to hunt the next target on his list.

  He looked at the dried blood on his knuckles, under his fingernails, down his wrists. He felt as if he had just emerged from an orgy at a slaughterhouse. He peeled off the trench coat and draped it on the bed next to the satchel, and now his clothes felt cold and tacky. He plucked at his shirt, pulled the blood-soaked fabric from his ribs. He would have to burn these clothes. He could never ask the manager, even a former member of the Bastion, to launder them. It would raise far too many questions.

  He whirled as he heard the doorknob rattle, a key in the lock. The door swung open with a swift and casual turn, and Daniel Gardon barged in without knocking. He flicked on the light switch.

  Helsing stood there in the flood of daylight that spilled into the room from the open door, his body covered in blood. The red-slick butchering knife and the bloodstained hatchet lay on the desk next to him.

  Gardon stared, aghast. ‘My god, all that blood!’

  Helsing lurched toward the manager. ‘Wait! It’s not human blood. It’s vampire blood.
You know—’

  Gardon raised his hands as if to protect himself. ‘What did you do?’

  He turned to run, and Helsing instinctively lunged for a weapon. This man had left the Bastion, questioning their beliefs, their tactics. He was a danger, a vulnerability.

  Helsing seized the revolver, swung it up, and pulled the trigger hard.

  Gardon had just made it out the door as the gunshot exploded. At close range, the blast caught the man in the neck and the side of the head, blowing him into shredded meat. Thrown by the impact, he sprawled on to the cement doorstep.

  In the parking lot two rooms down, a family was loading their hatchback with gift bags from the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo and the Garden of the Gods Trading Post. Standing by the open passenger door, the mother watched the bloody body crash to the ground after the loud gunshot. The kids screamed in harmony.

  Helsing’s wrist throbbed from the recoil. Throwing the revolver in the satchel along with the stakes, mallet, and other tools, he bolted from the room. Too easy to get trapped there. No time to get anything else. He didn’t even take time to don the trench coat and cover himself.

  He sprang over Gardon’s body on the cracked concrete. More people had emerged into the parking lot and were panicked by what they had just witnessed.

  Helsing bounded toward his car, grabbing the keys, which thankfully were still in his pocket. He threw himself into the driver’s seat and started the Honda’s engine even before slamming the door shut.

  The tourist family crouched down by Gardon’s mangled body at the open door of room 41. A big man in a trucker cap was already shouting into his cell phone.

  The Honda’s tires spun and spat loose gravel in the parking lot, and Helsing raced away from the Rambler Star. With so many witnesses, he was positive someone would note the license plate. Other motel guests could identify him; his cover was blown. He had to move fast if he wanted to have any hope of salvaging his plans.

  Simon Helsing was on the run, and he knew exactly where to go.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  After leaving the Grollin murder site, Detective Carrow wasted no time going down the list of potential victims.

  He turned over the crime scene as soon as the coroner arrived. As he met her at street level, heading out the door, Orla Watson was bright eyed and exuberant, which Carrow found odd. ‘You seem altogether too eager for another murder scene,’ he said.

  Watson blinked her owlish eyes. ‘I love my job, Detective. That’s why I’m working so hard to get re-elected, and all this work helps increase my visibility.’ She hurried up the stairs, as if she was afraid of being late.

  Next name from the folder was Frederik Lugash, the pizza delivery man. Lugash lived in a small rundown home in a small rundown neighborhood, not far from the county jail and innumerable bail bond offices, lumberyards, and fenced storage areas for building supplies.

  Carrow drove to the south part of town. The neighborhood was a cluster of ranch-style homes with white aluminum siding, black shingle roofs, concrete driveways, and broken-down cars on cinder blocks that served as lawn ornaments. Lugash’s driveway had a Volkswagen Rabbit with a plastic Checkers Pizza delivery sign still hanging from the passenger window. His house was quiet, closed up as if it had been mothballed for the day. Lugash worked the night shift and came home to sleep, much like the vampire killer’s previous victims.

  Carrow hoped he wasn’t too late again. Unless Helsing, or whatever his real name was, had rushed straight here after chopping off the taxi driver’s head, he couldn’t have had time to kill this man.

  Unless he had murdered the man the previous day, when Carrow was with Hugo Zelm.

  He pulled open the scrolled aluminum screen door and pounded hard on the door, rang the doorbell three times, then pounded again. After several minutes of knocking, he grew concerned, especially after what he had just seen at Grollin’s apartment. He dredged up his inner macho in preparation for either shouldering or kicking the door open. Considering the circumstances, the action was justified.

  Just as he braced himself, he heard movement inside: someone shuffling up to the door, locks clicking, a chain rattling. The front door opened to reveal a gaunt man in his early thirties, wearing boxer shorts and no shirt. His chest was pasty white, almost cadaverous, and his ribs showed. He shrank away from the bright daylight, rubbed his eyes, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. ‘What do you want? I’m sleeping.’

  ‘Frederik Lugash?’

  ‘If you don’t know who I am, then why the hell are you pounding on my door? It’s only ten o’clock! I just got to sleep.’

  ‘I know you work the night shift, Mr Lugash, but there’s a possible threat to your life. We have reason to believe a serial killer may have targeted you. Good enough reason to disturb you, right?’

  Lugash blinked, still in the hallway shadows. ‘Me? Why the hell would someone want to kill me?’

  ‘He believes you’re a vampire. You sleep during the day and work all night.’

  Lugash shook his head, as if trying to absorb the words through the fog of a deep sleep. ‘That’s what the night shift does, man. A vampire? Asshole! Let me go back to bed.’ He turned away in annoyance.

  ‘It’s not me you need to worry about, sir,’ Carrow said. ‘There was another murder this morning – four that we know of, so far. Killer seems to think each one was a vampire. We have his list of potential targets, and your name is on it.’

  The pizza delivery man looked uneasy. ‘Well, what do you expect me to do about it? I’ll keep the door locked.’

  ‘Be alert for anything unusual. Going to authorize an unmarked car here in the neighborhood for your protection, but they’ll be as unobtrusive as possible.’

  ‘As long as they let me sleep. Why the hell would he target me?’

  ‘He’s gathered what he calls evidence, but I’m not saying it’s a rational theory. Do you recall any suspicious customers, someone who might have been stalking you?’

  ‘Suspicious customers? They’re all suspicious.’ Lugash rubbed his eyes again. ‘Shit, you know how many I see? How many houses or apartments I drive to every night? I remember the tips and sometimes the addresses, not the faces.’

  Carrow tried to placate him. ‘I had to ask. Rest easy. The security detail will watch over your home, keep you safe.’

  ‘You do that, thanks.’

  Carrow looked at the scrawny, half-naked milk-skinned man and handed him his card. ‘Here’s how you can reach me. Call if you see anything suspicious.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Lugash tucked the card in the waistband of his underwear. ‘Now I’m going back to bed.’

  He closed the door in Carrow’s face.

  The next person on Helsing’s list was MaryJane Stricklin, the night ambulance driver. She answered the doorbell on the first ring. Stricklin was in her early forties, had a rounded face freshly scrubbed of any make-up. Her thick blond hair hung in a low-maintenance perm, which complemented her lounging pants, sweatshirt, and fuzzy slippers. A news channel with nonstop inflammatory ‘breaking headlines’ blared on the TV.

  Carrow showed her his ID. ‘Looking for MaryJane Stricklin.’

  ‘She’s right in front of you. MaryJane is legal in Colorado now.’ It took a moment for Carrow to understand the joke. ‘I was just about to eat dinner, Detective. Come in.’ He smelled marinara inside the house. A plate of spaghetti, two slices of garlic bread, and a glass of red wine sat on a small table in front of the television.

  Carrow looked pointedly at the wine. ‘It’s ten-thirty in the morning.’

  ‘Dinner is when you decide it is. I had a long night, lost a customer. A car accident victim, DOA. So sad. Just a kid, probably eighteen. All that blood …’ She sounded defensive as she stepped back to her dinner for one. ‘I try to enjoy my own life because I see so much death. I’m going to have a nice pasta meal, garlic bread and a glass of chianti, probably two. Is there something illegal in that, Detective?’

  Carrow smiled. ‘
Don’t actually care about the wine. More interested in the garlic bread. In fact I’m relieved.’ She looked puzzled until he explained about the vampire killer and his intended victims.

  ‘So he’s suspicious of me because I drive an ambulance at night?’

  ‘Also because of your access to blood supplies, not to mention the availability of blood from the injured victims you transport. Statistically, there’s an unusual number of fatalities among your passengers.’

  ‘Fatalities?’ Stricklin sounded even more defensive. ‘There are fatalities because people die, and more people die at night. Car accidents, drunk drivers, bar-room fights, drug deals gone wrong. I hate it! Maybe your vampire killer should look at my personnel file and see how many times I’ve requested transfer to the day shift. I’d rather handle broken bones on a playground.’ She seemed angry, and Carrow understood why.

  He got an idea. ‘It would keep you safer if you were out and about during daylight hours, make it obvious you aren’t afraid of the daylight.’ He nodded toward her drawn drapes. ‘Can’t say that the killer is actively watching you, but if you changed your work shift, he’d know he was wrong about you.’

  ‘That’s all I have to do?’ She defiantly tugged on the cord and pulled open the curtains across the front window. ‘I won’t be able to see the TV very well, but it’s just talking heads anyway.’ While Carrow remained standing in the hall, she sat down, took a bite of spaghetti, then a sip of the chianti. As if showing off, she tore into a piece of garlic bread and let out satisfied sounds. ‘I’ll stand in broad daylight in the middle of a parking lot and eat a whole loaf of garlic bread if that will help.’

  ‘Only if he sees you,’ Carrow said.

  The woman got a calculating look on her face. ‘Detective, if you write me a note that my life may be in danger because I have the night shift, my supervisor will have to transfer me. He’s ignored my previous requests.’

  ‘I can make some calls,’ Carrow said. It would be cheaper than assigning a plainclothes protective detail.