F Paul Wilson - Novel 10

by Midnight Mass (v2. 1)

  "There's another way," Carole said.

  Joe looked up and saw her fishing something that looked like a candle out of the front of her sweatshirt. He seemed to be viewing her through a mist. The waxy stick had wires attached. She bent and placed it under Artemis's neck, then draped a wire over each of his shoulders.

  "This is a high explosive," she said. "You won't feel a thing."

  High explosive? Had she wired herself to explode? He wanted to ask but the words wouldn't come.

  "Just take the two wires ..." Carole was saying.

  He watched Artemis reach up and take a wire in each hand.

  "... and touch them—"

  "Fuck you all!" Artemis cried as he jammed the two wires together.

  Joe managed to raise a leaden arm across his eyes and fall back—

  —but nothing happened.

  Carole looked down at Artemis, her expression a mask of dismay.

  "You didn't let me finish." She held up a battery. "You touch the wires to opposite ends of this." She shook her head. "Your kind simply don't understand mercy or compassion, do you."

  "Damn right they don't," Lacey said.

  Joe saw that she held the maul and a stake in her hands. Before Artemis could react, she jabbed the point over his heart and slammed it home with two quick, hard strikes.

  The vampire arched his back, shuddered, then crumpled.

  Lacey pulled the explosive stick from behind Artemis's neck and handed it back to Carole. "They don't deserve a break. Any of them."

  Joe was still half sitting, half lying on the floor. He tried to rise but hadn't the strength. He felt as if someone had pulled the plug on his energy.

  "Something's wrong," he croaked. "I can barely move."

  Carole looked at her watch. "Dear Lord! It's past your time!"

  Joe fought the lethargy stealing through him. Too tired to worry. It was all he could do to hold his head up.

  The world around him became a blur. He was dimly aware of voices mentioning "back door" and "employee entrance" and "bring the car around." He felt himself dragged-carried outside into a shady area that was still blindingly bright, then lifted and folded into a small space ... a slam that sounded like a car trunk lid, then darkness.. . blessed darkness.

  - 11 -

  JOE . . .

  "Carole ... are you all right?"

  Joe had awakened to find the two slugs he'd taken in the Post Office scattered around him on his mattress. He didn't know how, but his body had extruded them during daysleep.

  Then he'd fed—God, how he hated the word, the concept, the act. It made him feel like some sort of jungle animal; he would never get used to it. The women had decided to alternate, so Lacey had been the donor this time. The sun was just about down, and the three of them had taken their usual positions around the coffee table.

  But Joe had noticed that Carole seemed withdrawn. She looked tired, but he sensed it was more than that.

  "I'm okay" Carole said without looking at him.

  Lacey said, "She's been like this all day." This earned her a brief glare from Carol. "Well it's true. You barely said two words to me before we went to sleep, and maybe half a dozen since we woke up."

  "Didn't you sleep well?" Joe said.

  "As a matter of fact, no," Carole said.

  "Bad dreams?"

  "In a way." She looked up, first at Joe, then at Lacey. "Are we proud of ourselves?"

  "About what?" Joe said.

  "About this morning."

  "Yeah," Lacey said. "We reduced the world's undead population by eight and we learned something that could turn this fight around: kill one of the big-shot undead and a whole lot of others die too."

  Carole said, "What about how we learned that secret?"

  Lacey shook her head. "I'm not following."

  Carole sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Torture. Am I the only one who's bothered by the fact that we tortured that creature into giving us the information?"

  "Yeah," Lacey said with an edge on her voice. Joe could sense his niece's back rising. "I guess you could say you are. They're already dead, Carole."

  "No, they're undead. And they very obviously feel pain."

  "Hang on now," Joe said. He caught Carole's troubled gaze and held it. "We did what we had to, Carole. I didn't like it, and I'm sure Lacey didn't either, but this is war and—"

  "A war for what?"

  "For survival," Lacey said. "Them or us. This isn't a war of ideologies, Carole," Lacey said. "And it's not a war of religions either. This is a war for the survival of the human race."

  "Even if we have to sacrifice our humanity to win it?"

  Joe leaned back and kept silent. This wasn't what he'd wanted to talk to Carole about, but he sensed this argument had been brewing all day, maybe longer. Best to stay out of the line of fire unless it escalated too far.

  "Ever hear of the Spanish Inquisition, Carole?" Lacey said. "That was 'humanity' at its most creative. We invented torture."

  "You sound proud of it."

  "Not at all. I look at a picture of a rack or an Iron Maiden and my stomach turns. My point is that we, as the living, don't exactly have clean hands when it comes to depravity."

  "I'm not worried about humanity's hands," Carole said sofdy. "I'm worried about ours—the three of us. I'd like to believe that we deserve to win. But if in the process we become like the enemy, what have we won?"

  "The right to survive!"

  "Is that all you want?"

  "No!" Lacey shot to her feet and pounded the table. "I want more! I want to see every single one of those bloodsucking parasites dead and rotting in the sun! They robbed me of the person I loved more than anyone in my life, they took my parents—maybe I was on rotten terms with them, and maybe I'll always be pissed at them for naming me Lacey, but they were still my parents—and then they took one of the few men in the world that I love and respect and tried to turn him into a monster like them. I want them gone,

  Carole, I want them wiped off the face of the earth, and I want them to go screaming in agony, and I'm for doing whatever it takes to achieve that!" Her voice broke and tears streamed down her cheeks as she pounded the table with each word. "Whatever—it—takes!"

  Joe rose, put an arm around Lacey's shoulders, and let her lean against him. Time to make peace.

  "I'm okay," she said.

  "No, you're not. None of us has been okay since the invasion. We're all damaged to varying degrees, but we all want the same thing. Carole has a valid point. We need to win—we must win—but maybe there should be a line we won't cross in order to win. I think we may have crossed that line at the Post Office."

  He felt Lacey stiffen and shake her head. "No lines, no limits, no quarter, no mercy."

  Joe tightened his grip on his niece's shoulders. How was he going to salvage this?

  "Can we leave it that we agree to disagree and hope we don't have to cross the line again—hope that we don't find ourselves in a position where we even have to think about crossing it?"

  But if that moment came, Joe wondered, what side of that line would he come down on?

  Lacey shrugged, reluctantly, he thought. "I guess I'm all right with that."

  Carole nodded. "So am I. I pray we're never faced with that choice again."

  "Good," Joe said, sagging with relief. "You two had me worried there."

  "What?" Lacey said, looking up at him with a half-smile playing about her lips. "You thought we'd break up the team? Never happen. Right, Carole?"

  "Never. Our work is too important. But I thought it needed an airing."

  "Well, it's aired," Joe said. "Now let me air something else." He sat and took Carole's hands in his. "How long have you been wiring yourself with explosives?"

  She looked away. "A while."

  "Why?"

  "I think that should be obvious."

  It was. But for Joe it was unthinkable.

  "Carole, you mustn't. . . you can't..."

  "I won't," she sai
d. "Not unless all hope is gone."

  "Even then—"

  She faced him. "I will not become one of them, Joseph. And didn't you tell us yourself that you jumped off the Empire State Building?"

  Yes, he had, hadn't he. He wished he hadn't told them. It cut off his argument at the knees. What could he say—that it was all right for him but not for her?

  "But blowing yourself up ..."

  The thought of Carole being torn to pieces, bits of her splattered against the walls and ceiling of a room, or scattered up and down a street, sickened him.

  Her smile was tremulous. "What better way to go? I put my hand in my pocket, I press a button, and it's over—instantaneous, painless, and, considering the straits I'll be in at that moment, I'll probably take a few of the enemy with me."

  "I kind of like that idea," Lacey said. "Maybe you can wire me and—"

  Joe held up a hand. "Lacey, please." He stared at Carole. "All right. What can I say? It's something only you can decide, Carole. But I beg you, when things look blackest, when you think there's no way out and the situation can't get worse, hold off pressing that button. Give it just one more minute."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want to lose you. And who knows? Maybe in that one extra minute the situation will start to turn around. Promise?"

  She shrugged. "Promise."

  Joe leaned back. He'd thought he'd feel better confronting her about this, but he didn't.

  He put it behind him for now and looked first at Lacey, then Carole.

  "All right. That's settled—I hope. Now we should plan our next step. When do we leave for New York?"

  Lacey dropped back into her seat. "New York? So soon? Are we ready for that?"

  "I don't think we have much choice," Joe said. He got up and settled himself on the couch. "First off, I don't think there's another nest we can practice on. Second, after what we did this morning, I've got a feeling this area's going to be on the receiving end of a lot of attention. So while they're looking this way, gearing up to make a move against the church and the people holding it, I propose we sneak in under their radar and strike where they least expect it."

  Carole was nodding. "I like it. And from the way things went this morning,

  I believe dawn is the best time. But I assume we'll find more than three collaborators guarding the Empire State Building."

  "Lots more," Joe said. He glanced at his niece. "Too many for even Annie Oakley here to take out."

  Lacey smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that."

  She got up and went to the dining area. She returned dragging a large canvas mail sack. She set it beside the couch and pulled open the top. Joe started when he saw the jumble of weapons inside.

  "Good Lord, Lacey, what did you do? Rob an armory?"

  "Almost as good. Before we left the Post Office this morning I collected every pistol and piece of ammo I could find, from Vichy and undead alike. Even picked up that sawed-off shotgun."

  Joe shook his head. "It's still not enough. We're only three and there's dozens of them. We'll need another way."

  Lacey looked at Carole. "Explosives? That napalm you cooked up?"

  Carole shook her head. "Nothing I can make has the detonation velocity necessary to damage a building like the Empire State."

  Lacey looked glum. "Then what? If we can't get inside—"

  "I think I have a idea," Carole said.

  Lacey brightened. "What?"

  "Just the start of one. Let me work it through first. How long have we got?"

  "I'd like to leave as soon as possible," Joe said. "Hit them before they find out what we did at the Post Office. Or if they do know, catch them while they're still off balance."

  "I think we should make the trip by day," Lacey said. "That way the only ones around to stop us will be living. At night we'll have to dodge the undead as well."

  "But I can't help you during the day."

  Lacey smiled and nudged the letter bag with a toe. "I think Carole and I can handle any Vichy we meet along the way."

  Joe wasn't keen on lying helpless in a car trunk while the two women took all the risks, but he couldn't fault Lacey's logic.

  "All right then," he said. "We leave at dawn. Will that give you enough time, Carole?"

  "I hope so. I'll need to take the car to see if I can find what I need."

  "Okay. Just get back in time so we can stock up for the trip. We need to find some gas too. The Lincoln's pretty low."

  "No need," Lacey said. "There's a cool convertible with a full tank sitting in the garage. We can take that instead."

  "Looks like you've got all the bases covered. Only one thing left to do before we go. Carole, drop Lacey off at the church so she can tell them what we did at the Post Office and to expect reprisals. But most important, tell them the get-death secret. Have Gerald Vance get on his shortwave and start broadcasting it around the world."

  "You think anyone'll believe it?"

  "I hope so. Maybe in New York we'll find a way to give the world more tangible proof."

  "How?"

  Joe didn't answer. He was working on the beginning of an idea of his own.

  BARRETT . . .

  It was a little after midnight when James Barrett stepped out of the elevator into the Observation Deck atrium. A couple of Franco's get-guards pulled pistols and started for him. Where was Artemis tonight? He was usually the first to get in the face of anyone, living or undead, who set foot on the deck.

  "What do you want?"

  Something in their eyes, their expressions. Was it fear? What was going down here?

  "Franco said to meet him here," Barrett said.

  "I'll go check," said one of the guards.

  As commander of the Empire State Building's human contingent, Barrett was used to being taken straight to Franco. Why this extra layer of insulation all of a sudden?

  After all, he was responsible for round-the-clock security. He could have stayed around just on days—the really important time for security—but that meant he'd never get to see Franco, and Franco would never see him. So he caught a few winks here and there when he could and made sure he was around for at least some of the night shift.

  He'd held the job for six months now. That meant he had nine-and-a-half years of servitude left. That was the deal with the undead: ten years of service and they'd turn him. Fine for the other slobs to wait that long, but not him. He'd risen as high as a living man could go in Franco's organization. He needed to take the next step, needed to be turned, and soon. But he still hadn't found the lever to boost him to that stage.

  "Come with us," said the returning vampire. "But first..."

  He patted Barrett down and removed the .44 Magnum from his shoulder holster. He stared at it a moment, then handed it back.

  Barrett hid his shock. He'd never been frisked before.

  "Let's go," said the other.

  But instead of escorting him to the outer deck, he led him into a stairwell to the left of the elevator bank and down the steps to the eighty-fifth floor. After a short walk along a hallway, he was passed through another set of guards into a bare room furnished with only a king-size four-poster bed. Large sheets of plywood had been bolted over the windows.

  Franco paced the room, his hands behind his back.

  "There's been some trouble," he said without preamble, without so much as a glance at Barrett.

  "Where?" It must be really serious, he thought. "I haven't heard anything."

  "You wouldn't," Franco said, his eyes were on the floor as he paced. "I sent Artemis down to New Jersey a few days ago to check up on Olivia and see to it that she was staying on top of things. If she wasn't—as I was sure was the case—he was to take over. This evening I received a report from downtown that—"

  He seemed to catch himself and cast a quick sidelong glance at Barrett. What was he hiding? He knew that Artemis and a few of his get lived down in the Village. What had Franco heard?

  Franco shook his head and went
on. "I heard a report that made me suspect that something might have happened to Artemis. So I sent a flyer down to check." Finally he looked up at Barrett. "Artemis is dead. So is Olivia."

  "Oh, shit," Barrett said. It was the best he could do. He was all but speechless.

  Artemis dead? Barrett couldn't wrap his mind around it. Was there a tougher undead son of a bitch in the world? He doubted it.

  "How?"

  "Staked. Same as Olivia."

  "Her guards too?"

  "All dead."

  "A massacre! Who—?"

  "I suspect it has something to do with that vigilante priest. That's the only answer."

  "But he's one of you now."

  "His followers aren't. Maybe when they found out that we turned him, instead of being demoralized, they went berserk. I don't know."

  Barrett heard opportunity knocking. Here was a chance to stand out, to maybe shorten that nine-and-a-half-year wait for immortality.

  A plan was already forming. Show up down there, pretend to be another refugee, infiltrate their ranks, wait till the time was right, till they were off guard, then blow them all away.

  "Want me to go down and check it out?"

  Franco shook his head. "No. I need you here. I want you to gather your men from inside and outside the city and concentrate them around this building. I'm going to organize a counter strike and I don't want any interruptions. By next week I'll have gathered a horde of ferals to set loose down there. No quarter, no survivors. Then I'm going to incinerate the entire area. The flames will be visible for miles. Not one house or church or synagogue will be left standing. The rest of the living will hear and understand the consequences of resistance."

  "I don't think pulling in your perimeter is such a good idea. That's like your early-warning system. You don't want—"

  "What I don't want is to debate it. I did not bring you up here for a discussion. I'm telling you what to do. Now do it!"

  Barrett resisted a hot retort. He held up his hands and said, "You're the boss."

  As he turned and walked out, he thought, But you're an asshole.