Stake

by Kevin J. Anderson

Carrow almost missed a sharp turn, slammed on the brakes in time to avoid a fallen tree. Helsing’s car disappeared up another switchback, grinding higher. Carrow backed, went forward, backed again, managed to turn the Mercedes on the extremely tight curve, and went after Helsing again.

  The killer veered off on an even steeper track. It was unmarked. The forest was pitch black, the trees close enough that branches scraped against the car’s windows and side. Carrow saw steep drop-offs to the right, a sharp slope dotted with rock outcroppings faintly visible in the light.

  The tail lights flared red ahead, brake lights, and then Helsing halted his car, blocking the road. The door opened, and Carrow watched a figure leap out and run from the car along the edge of the steep slope.

  Carrow slammed the Mercedes into park, tried to figure out how to shut off the engine, then gave up as he sprang out of the car in pursuit. Helsing, running into the underbrush just ahead, yanked off his tweed sport jacket and threw it behind him, as if it might fly into Carrow’s face and slow him.

  ‘Better freeze right there!’ Carrow drew his revolver.

  The killer dodged and crashed through the underbrush on the side of the road, working his way along the precipitous edge, barely able to keep his balance.

  ‘I said freeze!’ Carrow reached Helsing’s parked car. It was so dark that he could barely see, especially with the bright headlights illuminating the fog of road dust that sifted through the air. He caught a glimpse of a figure melting into the shadows.

  Carrow thought of the people Simon Helsing had killed, the men with stakes pounded through their chests, the butchered taxi driver, the motel owner blasted with a silver shotgun shell. Then he thought of David Amber, the young police officer assigned to watch over Frederik Lugash, now lying in a coma with his skull bashed in by Helsing’s mallet.

  ‘I will shoot!’

  Helsing continued to plow through the underbrush, grasping branches to keep from slipping off the treacherous incline that plunged down the mountainside.

  Carrow aimed at the shadowy form and muttered to himself, ‘I’ll fucking call it self-defense.’ He shot twice. One bullet splintered a branch just next to the silhouette. The second caught the man in the shoulder, hurling him to one side. His arms flailed, and he tumbled down the steep slope, crashing and sliding through the impenetrable woods.

  Carrow ran to the abrupt edge of the road and looked down into inky darkness. He couldn’t hear any further sounds of a body tumbling down into the canyon. He didn’t know how severely wounded Helsing was, if the gunshot had struck him in the back or just winged him in the shoulder. No matter – he was going to be damaged goods by the time he hit the bottom. It was a long way down, steep slope, thick trees.

  How the hell was he supposed to climb down there? And in his good suit?

  With an outcry of sirens, two police cars rumbled up and ground to a halt on the dirt road behind him. Car doors burst open and other officers ran up to join him as he stared down into the wilderness.

  ‘Get flashlights,’ Carrow said. ‘I shot him, and he fell. Doubt we’ll find anything in the dark.’

  ‘We’ll call in the Forest Service, bring dogs. He won’t get away, Detective.’

  ‘Damn right he won’t,’ Carrow said. He had been riding on adrenalin ever since the first shots rang out at the gala. It would probably be long after sunrise before they wrapped this up.

  FORTY-NINE

  Branches tore at him like vampire claws as he fell through the trees, slid on pine needles and dry leaves, and crashed into hard outcroppings of granite. Helsing flailed for purchase, snagged and uprooted a small pine sapling, and rolled onward.

  He smacked his head on a tree trunk and his ears rang as he tumbled. He was still too much in shock, in frantic flight, to feel the wound in his shoulder, but he knew he had been shot. His shoulder was bleeding. His arm flopped, numb.

  He careened into a thicket of bushes that brought his plunge to a halt, lost consciousness for a few moments, then dredged his mind back to awareness. This was just like the ambulance crash in Bosnia, halfway down a mountainside. He couldn’t stay here. He had to move.

  He glanced up the slope toward the dirt road high above. He saw lights, heard voices. He couldn’t let them find him. He would work his way through the forest, and he was far better at this than they were.

  He had driven here intentionally, chosen this spot because he knew he could make his way to one of the Bastion caches deep in the woods, take shelter there. When racing away from Zelm’s mansion, he’d expected to lose the other car in the maze of dirt roads, but the pursuing vehicle – no doubt someone controlled by the king vampire – kept on his tail. He had to stop somewhere or he’d be cornered on the dirt roads, but he could disappear into the national forest. Though the Bastion had ostracized him, he still knew where their resources were cached.

  Take only what you need.

  His right arm was useless, and he could barely bend it. Pain and blood screamed now from the ragged gunshot wound. The bullet had gone through. He could feel the large exit hole – a relief, he supposed, though it felt as if some werewolf had torn into the meat of his back.

  Helsing dragged himself to his feet again and held on to the wiry bushes so he wouldn’t fall farther down the slope. Blurry spots swirled around his vision, but the forest itself was pitch black. He fumbled along by instinct, keeping a grip, sliding ever downward. The base of the canyon was far below. The seasonal stream would be dry, but once he got to the creek bed he could follow it, find the tributary that would lead him to the distinctive rock outcroppings, a small cave where he would find supplies, food, a medical kit. His training as a medical corpsman would come in handy.

  The bumbling police officers above would not find him tonight. He struggled along, knowing that his blood was leaving a trail for any real tracker, but he kept moving. It would take the cops hours to get the resources they needed to perform a thorough search. He couldn’t let them catch him, not only for the sake of survival – Simon Helsing wasn’t afraid of death – but because he still had so much work to do. He had used all his silver-loaded rounds, but Hugo Zelm was still alive. His mission had failed.

  Clearly under the king vampire’s spell, Alexis Tarada had helped to save the wealthy man.

  Helsing had a lot more killing to do.

  When he reached the stream bed, he stumbled over broken boulders choked with dry weeds. The dark and the dangerous forest reminded him of his terrifying night in the Bosnian wilderness many miles from Sarajevo. The lampir had hunted him then, too.

  The police were pursuing him, but what if Hugo Zelm had also sent vampire minions after him? That thought gave him the strength he needed to fight his way along the ravine and thrash through thickets of willows. He paused to catch his breath while hanging on to a branch, but he couldn’t afford to rest. He was losing blood drop by drop. He needed the medical kit in the hidden cache.

  After what felt like hours, he reached the talus boulders, looming outcrops of speckled pink granite far from any trail. His footsteps crackled and rattled in the underbrush as he felt along the rock face, pulled himself to the low point, and then up the other side of the slabs until he found the gap between two boulders. By now his eyes were adapted to the darkness, and he could see details by the starlight. He spotted a pale plastic sheet inside the small cave and brushed away the leaves and dirt to uncover the package.

  With shaking hands Helsing fumbled until he undid the opening of the weatherproof bag. Inside, he found clothes, a Mylar blanket, emergency ready meals, protein bars, chocolate wrapped in plastic. And a first-aid kit.

  He tore it open, looking for gauze and tape. Even though a deep chill had settled into his bones, he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled off the bloody mess, and set it aside. Taking a wad of gauze, he awkwardly reached up with his left hand and pressed it against the ragged exit wound. The small crater in his flesh felt warm and wet. He pressed hard to stanch the flow of blood, but he couldn’t do much.
>
  Now that he was in a safe haven, no longer fueled by adrenalin and endorphins, he felt the energy oozing out of him. Helsing began to shiver and knew he was growing weaker, in danger of going into shock. Even though he told himself he had to stay awake, had to treat himself, take the supplies, and keep moving, his body refused to listen. A black tar pit of unconsciousness dragged him down …

  He awoke, still in darkness, to find a figure standing in front of him with a flashlight. He lurched back to full consciousness, ready to fight, probably to die, but he would not go down without a struggle.

  ‘Easy, son,’ said a deep, familiar voice, masked by the bright light. ‘You’re safe for now.’ When his vision focused, he recognized the big, bearded man as Lucius. ‘I knew you’d go here.’

  ‘You … came for me?’ Helsing couldn’t grasp the concept. The expression on Lucius’s face was grave.

  ‘I had to. I listened on the scanner and I know what you did. I knew you would come back to us, and made an educated guess you’d go to this cache.’ He heaved a long, weary sigh. ‘We’ll take care of you, son.’

  FIFTY

  After Detective Carrow raced after the vampire killer, Lexi stared down at her red-drenched dress. She felt no pain. Had she been shot? Was she bleeding? She touched the fabric, smelled the strong, rich scent of red wine. Not blood, then. She yanked the velvet choker from her neck as if it were strangling her.

  Someone grabbed her shoulder, turned her around. ‘Lex, you all right?’ Blair’s face was as pale as milk. ‘I saw you fall.’

  ‘I’m not shot. I think I’m OK.’

  Screams continued in the background, and she saw broken glass on the floor at her feet. She discovered jagged shards stuck in her arms, in the cloth of her bodice, from wine glasses that had turned into little razors. She brushed the pieces with her palm and knocked them loose to the floor. Oddly, even with the continued pandemonium around her, she could hear the tiny tinkle of glass. She began to feel the burn of multiple cuts, but none of them seemed deep.

  Many guests had dropped to their knees, weeping, gawking at their shredded arms and chests. One woman looked like she had chicken pox with red dots across her cheek. Helsing’s shots had been scattered and wild, unlike the close, concentrated blast that had killed the motel manager. The small silver projectiles had fanned out in a wide dissipated swath.

  Blair checked her over. ‘I was on the other side of the room, but I came as fast as I could.’

  Instantly her thoughts sharpened. ‘Mr Zelm!’ Lexi pushed her way between two burly guards, trying to see the philanthropist.

  He was touching his shoulder, running his hands over his chest. He sounded maddeningly calm. ‘No serious injuries, apparently, but I could be in shock.’ He touched his face, looked down at his hands as if he found the large veins and liver spots reassuring.

  One of the guards, a man named Franklin, brushed off the front of Zelm’s tuxedo jacket. He frowned at little cuts on the sleeves and collar of Zelm’s jacket, but no blood. ‘You are uninjured, sir. None of the pellets penetrated the skin.’

  The philanthropist looked shaken. ‘Not a scratch?’ He drew a breath, then affirmed, ‘Not a scratch!’

  Hearing an odd undertone in Zelm’s voice, Lexi asked cautiously, ‘And what would have happened if you were actually injured with silver?’

  He scowled. ‘What do you think, Miss Tarada?’

  She didn’t know what to think.

  A woman in a blue-sequined cocktail gown lay motionless near the shattered picture windows, her bare back ripped apart by the shotgun pellets. Lexi remembered seeing her talking with Zelm as if they were old friends. Another man huddled against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest; he moaned as blood ran down the side of his face. He had been caught with the scatter shot of another shell.

  ‘We need to help these people, Blair,’ she said.

  He knelt beside the woman in the blue dress, propping her up by her shoulders, but her head lolled. He stared at her with a stricken expression. ‘She’s dead. The wounds don’t look that severe, and the blast didn’t go deep.’ He cradled her, then gently lowered the cold body back to the floor. ‘She was far enough away but … she’s dead.’ He climbed back to his feet next to the victim and looked around for someone else to help.

  Numerous attendees had been cut by spraying glass. Lexi assessed her own cuts. ‘I’ll need a few bandages, too.’

  Alarmed, Blair took out a white handkerchief and began dabbing away the blood. ‘We should get you to a hospital.’

  ‘Ambulances are coming,’ said Franklin. ‘We called them all.’

  Lexi could already hear the sirens. She touched her ruined dress, and the smell of spilled wine nauseated her. Everything was a blur, and she didn’t know how much time had passed. By now, Detective Carrow had probably brought down Simon Helsing.

  Lexi leaned against her friend. ‘Just stay with me, Blair, and help pick up the pieces.’

  FIFTY-ONE

  Out in the forest, armed with flashlights, Carrow and the other policemen scrambled down the slope holding on to branches, slipping, getting scratched, cursing. He fell five feet before catching his foot on a rock and grabbing a tree so hard he almost dislocated his shoulder. The darkness blanketed them. Bobbing flashlight beams speared light into the shadows as the other policemen crashed through the branches.

  ‘He went this way. I see some broken branches, skids in the pine needles.’

  ‘Sure. Be right over,’ Carrow said, holding on for dear life.

  ‘A blood spatter, Detective. Looks like you at least winged him.’

  That gave him great satisfaction. ‘I didn’t get him well enough because he’s still moving.’

  ‘He won’t get far. This is rugged terrain and it’s dark.’

  ‘Even wounded he’s better equipped for this than I am,’ Carrow grumbled. He was dressed in his best suit and going-to-a-gala leather shoes. He needed hiking boots and ropes.

  They worked their way down the ravine. Two of the officers took drastic tumbles. Carrow had cuts on his hand. The flashlight beams spread out, but Helsing could have gone anywhere in the dense forest.

  Within an hour additional backup arrived. Cars and SUVs crowded the one-lane dirt road high above. More searchers probed the forest with flashlights, also finding nothing in the dark. He hoped they would apprehend Helsing before dawn.

  Carrow said, ‘Once we have the search dogs, we’ll find him – or his body. How fast can he move? He’s bleeding.’ Even with the search party crashing through the underbrush and shouting back and forth, this place felt empty and isolated. He brushed leaves out of his hair. ‘Thought I was just going to a fancy cocktail party. I doubt they’ll ever invite me again.’

  When Helsing woke, he was cold, weak, and angry. His wounded shoulder throbbed, and he lurched up, alarmed. Faint grayish light seeped like a poison mist into the thick forest. A big powerful hand rested on his shoulder just above the bandage.

  Lucius said, ‘Relax. You just drifted off.’ The expression on the bearded man’s face was paternal but sad, weary with responsibility. ‘We understand what you tried to do.’

  Helsing remembered the king vampire, the silver shells … Alexis Tarada. She had betrayed him. On the ground beside him, he saw torn packages of gauze from the first-aid kit.

  ‘You were like a son to me, part of the Bastion. I always think of what’s best for the Bastion and for our survival.’

  Helsing’s wound had been dressed and packed, the bleeding stopped. He felt safe for now, safer than he had been in a long time. Lucius was here. Lucius would care for him. Lucius would continue the fight, somehow, even if Helsing had to leave. Then bitter anxiety flared up inside him. The Bastion had also abandoned him. ‘You left me! Why are you back?’

  ‘The Bastion has found a new home,’ Lucius said. ‘You don’t need to worry about us.’

  Helsing ground his teeth together. ‘You only think of yourself.’

  ‘I think of the
Bastion.’ Lucius sounded calm and resigned. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Simon. I even respect it. But the damage you’ve caused, the people you put at risk …’ He shook his shaggy head. ‘I remember when you first came to us. You’d seen more intense things than the rest of us even imagined. You made me understand the threat of the lampir. The Bastion had been on guard against so many disasters, but after what you told us about Bosnia, after the real encounters, you certainly frightened me.’

  ‘I wasn’t able to kill him, Lucius. The king vampire.’ The extent of his failure deflated Helsing, yet also fired his determination. ‘If you work with me, if all the Bastion joins together, we could find a way! And if we kill Zelm, the vampire network will unravel. He’s the key.’ He reached out to clutch at Lucius, but the big man wasn’t reacting. He simply looked forlorn.

  ‘You try and you try, Simon, but sometimes things just go wrong. Do you remember Roland? Tall man, very hairy, simpleminded?’

  Helsing nodded.

  ‘Sometimes things just go wrong,’ Lucius repeated, ‘and it falls to me to take care of it. It’s my Bastion, and you’re all my people. It is what it is.’

  Helsing detected something strange about the man’s demeanor, a tension that set off his alarm bells. The pre-dawn shadows in the forest were still intense. He had crawled to this hidden sanctuary while the police hunted for him. They were inept, civilized oafs. It would take them a long time to find his trail.

  Lucius, though, was something else.

  The big man slid out a long hunting knife, not trying to hide it. ‘I meant to do this while you were unconscious, but I wanted to see you, explain to you.’ He swallowed. ‘I have to protect the Bastion. You’ve made bad mistakes, Simon. You’ve alerted the whole city to our presence, raising far too many questions. I’m sorry, son.’

  As the big man lifted the knife, Helsing kicked out with one leg, using all his strength to smash into Lucius’s knee. The other man wasn’t expecting it. The blow cracked his kneecap and snapped the cartilage, knocking Lucius off balance. With a grunt, he fell against the rock. Helsing only had a moment. Lucius could easily overpower him with strength and mass, especially while Helsing was injured. He had one chance.