Infinite Vampire (Book 3): Maelstrom

by M. Lorrox

  He nods.

  Her hand slips off his shoulder, and her head dips. “I’m weak. I need blood.” She collapses, and a less-than-surprised Jambavan catches her.

  Flying Eagle, a junior officer of the Council Guard, has been clutching his motorcycle helmet for the last ten minutes while he’s been bombarded with question after question by newly arriving knights. They’re responding to a notice sent out by Acting Guard Commander, Captain Korina Sarkis, to assemble at the Pentagon and assist the military. They arrive looking for her and find Flying Eagle, whom she placed in charge. He squeezes the hard carbon fiber of the helmet to remind himself that he’s purposely not wearing it. He can’t put it on, sprint to his motorcycle, and take off because then he’d be ignoring his assignment.

  The latest to arrive is Qilin, who just three days ago spent some time with Charlie in the hotel bar. She runs over to the group, and her braided hair bops from shoulder to shoulder. “Alright, what’s the deal here?”

  Flying Eagle turns to her. “Oh, hi Qi, we’re supposed to help the military.”

  “Where’s Sarkis? Does anybody have an extra weapon I could borrow? Where are the elders? I heard they were hurt.”

  Eagle sighs and squeezes his helmet. He’s about to answer the first of her questions when something behind her catches his eye. A knight with green hair and shiny boots that stretch to her knees approaches, and Eagle smiles while loosening his grip on his helmet. “Hold on everyone, Hecate is here.”

  She runs over to the group. “Hey, uh…what’s the situation here?”

  He holds up his helmet. “I have to guard the injured elders at the hospital, and I should have left long ago. General Campbell is commanding the ground forces here, and now you, Hecate, are in charge of the knights.”

  She shakes her head. “Wait… What?”

  “You’re the first knight here that outranks me, and I have a duty elsewhere.” He puts the helmet on. “Deina, you coming?”

  Deina, another junior guardsman, grumbles as she puts on Enrique’s helmet. It’s a bit big for her, and it smells like a wrestling mat. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Flying Eagle starts his Harley. The low growl sweeps across the pavement like a stormfront. “Hecate, you’re in charge. Take command of the knights and assist the military. Good luck.”

  She sighs. “You too.”

  As he tears out, Hecate turns around to face the eight knights that remain. There’s a tall knight with a spear, a stocky man with a bushy mustache, a short woman in black, a slightly taller woman with braided hair, a thin man with buzzed hair and an assault rifle, a dark-skinned woman with a submachine gun, a huge knight with a bald but tattooed head, and dwarfed beside him is a man with a pointed beard and a sheathed sword across his back.

  They look familiar to her, but she doesn’t remember any of their names. Hmm. She doesn’t recognize any as a past foe or enemy, yet none appear friendly. “Hey. Uh, I’m Hecate. Hi. Does anybody know the Campbells guy that’s in charge of the military?”

  Ghost, the short woman dressed entirely in black, elbows the stocky knight to her side. She whispers, “Go on, help her out.”

  He grins, and his thick mustache pushes away from his face. He steps forward. “I know him, Hecate. Follow me, and I’ll bring you to him. I’m sure you’ll recall that I go by the name Coach.”

  She nods. “Coach! It’s been...so long.” How do I know this guy? I know that shorter woman though… Spectre or something paranormal-ish… I think.

  Coach leads her toward a network of tents that soldiers are running between. As Hecate follows, she studies him. He wears tall leather boots, a chainmail shirt under a cloth tunic, and a massive leather belt wrapped around his waist. Hanging off it and clanging as he walks are an old metal helmet, something that looks like a war hammer, a flanged mace, and a pair of hand axes. His features are somewhere between European and Russian, and his mustache is well groomed. C’mon, girl, how do I know this guy?

  He stops near the general. “Sir, this is Major General Hecate, Order of Knights.”

  General William Campbell looks at the steampunk/streetpunk-styled woman with green hair standing before him, and his face seems to be out-of-stock of warmth. “What can I do for you, Major General?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve got a squad of eight pissed-off vampire warriors, and the nine of us are itchin’ to kill a shitload of zombies. Give us a mission and some troops that can hold their own, and I’ll make sure it gets done.”

  It turns out, his smile was just pending delivery. “That may very well be the best damn thing that I’ve heard all day.”

  As Katlyn and some vampire chaperones help Korina take blood, more and more humans are getting on the bus’s roof. Jambavan and Frank try to find a channel on the CB radio that isn’t receiving the pulsed interference, but they’re not having any luck. Skip tries to keep the rest of the chaperones calm, and he stands up on a seat. “Listen: I know things are crazy, but now, knights are here with us. I think this is going to be okay.”

  Minnie and her friend Tommy whisper to each other while clutching their stuffed friends, while Jennifer, Tommy’s mom, shakes her head and scowls. “What part of this is okay? I mean, besides the people outside, I can’t get a call through.”

  Another chaperone speaks up. “Neither can I, and texts aren’t sending either.”

  Skip frowns and looks back and forth between them both. “The circuits are probably overloaded with everyone calling for help.” He turns to Jennifer. “And it’s entirely terrible—you’re right—but I’m saying we have to put our trust in the knights. They’re here. They’ll take care of us.”

  -bang, bang, bang- Someone outside pounds against the hatch on the roof.

  Kids shout and huddle against whoever is closest to them. Minnie pulls on Skip’s leg, and he sits down. She snuggles against him. “Why can’t we just let the poor people in?”

  Skip rubs her head. “Because we can’t let them all in, and they’ll put us in danger.”

  Jennifer sighs, then she hugs her son tighter when another round of banging comes from the ceiling. She looks at Skip. “Whatever the knights are doing, it would be great if they hurried up.”

  Skip nods, then he peels Minnie off him and squeezes past her. “Stay here, Minnie.” He makes his way up to Katlyn, and when he reaches her, he can tell that she’s shaken.

  She holds up half a blood pack. “Korina won’t drink any more. She insists on saving it, but she’s still weak.”

  Korina, leaned across a pair of seats, looks up at Skip and breathes slow. “You’re Costanza’s friend, right?”

  “Uh, yeah…?”

  “Trust me like he trusts me. Let me rest another minute, and get my squire to scare off the people on the roof.” She closes her eyes, telling him she’s not interested in having a discussion.

  Skip glances at Katlyn, then back to Korina. “I mean, I’ll give him the message for you…” He walks up to the front and taps Jambavan on the shoulder. “Hi. My name is Skip, and you’re, uh, her squire, right?”

  He turns and nods. “My name is Jambavan, and I serve Captain Korina Sarkis.”

  “Alright, Jambavan, listen to me. Korina wants you to scare the people off the roof. It’s making everyone upset, and all the commotion is going to draw zombies this way.”

  “Did she say how to scare them off?”

  “Not exactly…” Skip searches the boy’s eyes, then he glances down. Jambavan is wearing shoulder holsters with a pair of pistols. Skip’s eyes flash back to the squire’s. “I guess, just get up there and give them something else to be afraid of.”

  Jambavan considers different strategies, then nods. “Okay. Better push me up so I have my hands free. People near the hatch are going to want in.”

  Skip and Jambavan make their way to the hatch, and Skip braces himself against the seats. He interlaces his fingers, unbeknownst to him that it is exactly what Jambavan had done minutes ago for Korina.

  Jambavan smiles, steps into Skip’s
hand, draws one of his pistols, and stands up—using his free hand to unlock the hatch. Skip holds the lanky squire’s weight with a little trouble, but he manages.

  Jambavan pushes the hatch open and shoves his arm out, yelling, “Look out!”

  Skip lifts Jambavan until the squire presses himself up the rest of the way with his free hand. He sets his butt down on the roof while his legs still dangle inside. “FREE BULLETS! Anybody still on the roof gets one! In three!”

  A man in a suit throws a punch at Jambavan, but the squire easily redirects the blow and the attacker’s momentum. The man flies off the bus and crashes into the people below. Jambavan pulls back the slide of the gun, drawing the hammer back and loading a bullet into the chamber. “Two!”

  Another person dives for him and the open hatch, but Jambavan grabs hold of the person’s arms, twists and pulls the person, and shoves them sliding past.

  “One!” He takes aim at a man in workout clothes and prepares to fire.

  He dives off the bus.

  “Somebody’s won a hot round, who is it?” Jambavan turns and aims at a woman, and for a moment, she waits, calling his bluff. He pulls the trigger. -clk- “Oops, safety was on.” He disengages it and takes aim. “Last chance before I target practice with you.”

  She, too, dives off the bus. Jambavan looks around. No one else is still on the roof, and the people on the ground aren’t banging on the bus anymore. For a moment, there is quiet. Soon, the storm.

  Some people stare in horror behind the bus and toward the Mall, while others scatter away from the bus.

  Jambavan takes a breath. It worked... Glad I didn’t have to shoot anyone. He stands and starts to turn in a circle, assessing the surroundings. He only makes it halfway; he stops when he sees zombies rushing toward the bus from the Mall. Here they come.

  As the horde of mostly fit, ex-military zombies pour out of the metro from the Pentagon, other zombies are looking for prey, too. These zombies were released from their prisons only minutes ago by Dr. Melgaard, and they stream from twelve locations outside the downtown DC quarantine zone.

  To the west, at the metro stations in Clarendon and Ballston, Virginia, zombies rush the train platforms and chase the uninfected up the stairs. Half the zombies don’t see daylight because they catch slowpokes and now are feasting. The other half cause chaos on the streets above.

  To the north, in the skyscraping downtown of Silver Spring, Maryland, zombies spread out from the ground floor of a construction site. Someone in a fancy SUV plows into one and takes it out before it can do any damage, but twenty-three others find their way off the street and into restaurants, a mall, and a movie theatre.

  The National Harbor, which is more of a tourist destination than a shipping center, lies south of DC on the east side of the Potomac River. Zombies rip their way out of a container in the parking lot of the nearby convention center. Half of them descend upon the mini-mall and hotel at the waterfront, while the others are drawn in the opposite direction toward a housing development that lies beyond a thin row of trees.

  Across the river from the National Harbor, a container is opened in a densely populated historic neighborhood. To the east of DC, one spills into a giant theme park. To the northeast, another container now lies empty near a college square.

  Inside DC, but outside the quarantine, containers are opened at the National Zoo, H Street Northeast, the DC Armory arena, Grant Park, Tenleytown, and Columbia Heights.

  None of the twelve sites are military. None of them are deserted. No one near the sites expected zombies so far from the Pentagon.

  All of the sites have signal-jamming Marx generators nearby.

  When General Riley returns to find Captain Rickman with a platoon of eighteen marines, two engineers, and a stack of equipment cases, he smiles. “Well done, Rickman.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’re ready to go, but how are we getting downtown?”

  “In style, soldier! We’re taking Gold Tops!” He turns and starts jogging toward a pair of specially converted VH-60 Black Hawk helicopters—air limos—from the 12th Aviation Battalion’s Executive Flight Detachment. Both sleek black beasts with gold stripes and gold-painted roofs are spinning up their rotors. “Follow me, men!”

  “Gear up! Let’s go! Let’s go!” Rickman checks that the soldiers grab all the gear, and then he jogs along behind them toward the Gold Tops. I wonder who these birds brought to the Pentagon earlier... Whoever they were, they don’t need VIP treatment any longer.

  In the air over downtown DC, General Riley sits in one of the plush leather seats of the Gold Top. He scans out the windows, looking for a good place to set up a command post near the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station. There, inside the quarantine, military forces are already embattled. He spots a tall roof with plenty of flat areas about a block and a half north of the massive underground metro station. “There! The Federal Aviation Admin Building. Set us down on top.”

  The helicopters land, one at each end of the large building, and the soldiers grab their gear and pile out. The marines immediately fan out to secure the area, while the engineers, Specialist Smith and Specialist Klein, start to set up a command post. Smith fires up an electric generator, while Klein sets up the microwave relay communications system.

  Captain Rickman approaches General Riley. “Sir, send the helos back?”

  “Make sure we’ve got comms to the Pentagon Field Command Center first, and tell the pilots to wait on my command at the Pentagon.”

  “Yes sir!” He turns to help Specialist Klein set up the microwave transmitter, but Riley holds up his hand.

  “And Rickman, then you’re headed back with them. I want you in the Command Center, keeping an eye on things and keeping me in the loop. But first, get me the marines’ platoon leader.”

  He subdues a frown. “Yes, sir. Right away.” He turns the other way and jogs to a marine.

  General Riley steps toward the roof’s north edge and takes in the panoramic view of downtown. The great Washington Monument stretches into the sky, far to his left; the National Mall sits below, a couple blocks to the front; and the large Capitol Building with its tall rotunda stands proud, off to his right. This is it; this is where we make our stand. Like the Swiss Guard on the steps to St. Peter’s Basilica, we may bleed, but we will stop them. He notices a six-foot tall marine running his way. “Soldier!”

  The man stops and salutes. “Sir!”

  General Riley checks his rank and reads his name patch. “Master Sergeant Vega, what kind of toys did you boys bring up here? Think you’ve got enough to pass the time and do some damage?”

  Vega’s chiseled and stubble-painted face beams. “You know it, sir. We’ve got small arms, grenades, mini-claymores, M4s, a couple SAWs, a BMG 50-cal., about five thousand rounds total, and a handful of RPGs.”

  “Good. Give me a marine for command defense, then split the rest into two squads and have them ready to engage in five minutes. Go.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vega spins on his heel and runs to gather his men.

  General Riley watches Captain Rickman and the engineers setting up the communications equipment. We’ll turn this around. We’re not dying today. He sniffs, and at the top of his inhale, he nods. The country is in our hands.

  Li Chen, sitting in the passenger seat of Lorenzo Bernardi’s luxury SUV, gives directions to a neighborhood in Alexandria, Virginia. Steve and Madeline sit in the middle row, and behind them, in the large cargo area of the SUV, a blanket covers Sadie’s trunk.

  When they arrive, Lorenzo parks beneath a tall magnolia tree. “Okay, now what?”

  Li Chen turns in his seat toward Lorenzo. “You haven’t paid us yet.”

  Steve clears his throat and pats the trunk behind him. “It’d be a shame if this trunk here disappeared on you.”

  Madeline crosses her arms and shakes her head while clicking her tongue. “Such a shame.”

  Lorenzo huffs. “I just wanted to get away from the hotel. Anyway, what do you want? Cash, or I co
uld send it through my phone, or—”

  Li Chen snorts. “Cash, duh.”

  “Fine.” Lorenzo turns around to face the back and scowls at Steve. “Hands off the trunk.”

  Steve lifts his arm off the trunk with a grin.

  Lorenzo takes out his wallet, then he removes an envelope from the same pocket and puts his wallet back. “We didn’t find the ring, but I said I’d pay the same for the trunk. Here’s six grand.” He extends the envelope toward Li Chen, who instead of taking it, just motions to it with his head. Madeline reaches forward and grabs it.

  Inside the envelope, she thumbs through a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills. She takes one out and checks it. “Looks legit.” She slides the bill back in and stuffs the envelope into her jacket.

  Lorenzo clears his throat. “So, we are settled for the trunk then?”

  Li Chen opens his door a crack. “Nice doing business with you, but you didn’t find what you were looking for... Is the job done?”

  Lorenzo smiles and gestures for Li Chen to close his door.

  He does.

  “That depends. Are you all up for a greater challenge? The ring is probably with the kid, and he’ll likely keep it on him, especially after this.” He nods to the back of the SUV, referencing the stolen trunk. Then, he leans closer to Li Chen. “Get the ring—the one from that drawing I showed you—and I’ll pay you ten grand for it. But, no ring, no money.”

  Li Chen runs his tongue across one of his sharpened canine teeth. “I don’t think so. Sacking an empty hotel room—that’s one thing. Going face to face with the Costanzas’ little golden boy—and yeah, we knew who we were robbing, thanks for warning us—going face to face with them is totally different. Instead, I think the Fangs and I will walk while we’re ahead.” He opens his door and steps out. Steve and Madeline get out and shut their doors. Li Chen peeks his head back into his door’s crack. “Thanks anyway.”

  Lorenzo grinds his teeth. “Wait! What will it take?”