by Pavel Kornev
Ramon confirmed:
"There’s no one there."
I returned to the shrine, and tore off the metallic mesh covering it from inside in annoyance.
"Devil! He got away!"
My hulking partner noted reasonably:
"At least we found the right place."
"One of his spots, nothing more, nothing less," I said bitterly.
"I don't know, though. The room totally fits the veterinarian's description," my partner reassured me. He then moaned out: "Devilry! My back hurts so bad!"
"Let’s take a breather," I suggested. Then, feeling downhearted, I leaned my Winchester against the sarcophagus and sat on the lowest step.
Ramon took off the tanks, laid them carefully on the floor and stretched his back out with delight. Then he gave a slap to the massive sarcophagus top and asked:
"What's the lead for? There's some kind of mesh, too..."
"Who knows?" I grumbled back.
Then my inquisitive partner took the torch, pointed it inside and exclaimed:
"There's a whole storage area in here! Candles, barrels, some kind of little case!" After some brief thought, he went inside and broke the briefcase lock with his knife. "Woah!"
"What's that?" I asked as I got to my feet.
Ramon shook a thick pack of Egyptian guineas and handed them to me.
"A bunch of money, Leo. There's a whole bunch of money here!"
"And it doesn’t belong to you..." came a lifeless, rustling voice from the doorway.
Almost dropping the torch in fear, my hulking partner turned and pointed it: the malefic had caught us off guard. The shadows hiding under his wide-brimmed hat dispersed, not having the strength to stand up against the electric light.
The Moor covered his face with a black hand and took a step to the side. Just then, two more stepped out of the darkness to his aid. They started going in different directions, coming around the sarcophagus in a semicircle. And I just froze in place, not knowing what to do.
The flamethrower was lying on the floor.
On the floor. The flamethrower.
The other flamethrower was in a backpack on my back, so I'd never reach it in time, either. And the big one was on the floor. On the floor...
So then, I tossed a grenade underfoot.
I just pulled out the stubborn pin and hurled it. I jumped into the sarcophagus, braying out to Ramon:
"Get down!"
My hulking partner dove into the sarcophagus after me, lifted the stone lid and had just barely put it in place when the explosion thundered out! It felt like we were inside a bell at the top of a tower just as the clock struck noon, now competing with all the neighboring towers for dominance. I lost consciousness for a moment; then I came to my senses and immediately coughed out the acrid char seeping in through the narrow crack.
Ramon started writhing; he sat up on his bottom and wiped the blood from his nose. It looked purple-black in the light of the torch.
"Well?" he asked.
As soon as I saw the words on his lips, I noticed; there was a ringing in my ears. I didn't answer at all, just directed my pointer finger up.
With our joint efforts, we moved the unwieldy stone top aside and stuck our heads into the black smoke filling the room. On the floor, there were a few puddles of kerosene still burning, as well as three charred figures.
I coughed my lungs out, then got out first and helped Ramon after me. Even all concussed, he didn't forget to take the money-filled suitcase with him.
"The flamethrower is all fucked up," he rasped out in a coughing fit.
"And we will be too, if we don't get out of here," I rasped back as I started hobbling to the exit. "We'll suffocate!"
"I don’t believe you’ll have time to suffocate!" said a stylish-looking man in an expensive suit as he fitfully smoothed out his sooty mustache. He took a step out of the darkness and bent down over one of the Moors as he calmly lit a cigarette on the malefic's still smoldering outfit. "You won't have time, Viscount. That much I assure you!"
I agreed with him immediately, and without a word.
We wouldn't have time.
Part Two. Lazarus
Hand Grenades and the Fifteenth Element
1
THE HUMAN MIND is an abyss full of riddles, but the body is frequently a bigger mystery. Time and time again, we find our thoughts racing, yet the spinal column has already started giving commands. We are all slaves to reflex. And there's nothing bad in that; quite often, it saves our lives.
But, when I saw the bony body of a gentleman with a soot-covered face step out from the darkness, just barely brighter than pitch with the small puddles of kerosene still burning down, I didn't listen to what he had to say. My body reacted all on its own.
In the space of an instant, the massive sarcophagus was between us.
If the vampire – and yes, it was clearly a vampire! – was in fact amazed at my agility, he didn't express it in any way. He just gave a contemptuous snort, pressed his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and started wiping the flakes of ash off his jacket lapels with a kerchief. Unfortunately for him, though, he was just rubbing it deeper into the expensive fabric. He was in no hurry, and it was no wonder: the only way out of the subterranean hall was behind him.
I cursed, pulled the backpack out from behind me and, under the cover of the shrine, started undoing its stiff clasps. Thankfully, I was able to free the single-use flamethrower before the vampire threw himself on the attack. Ramon stood up nearby, and grasped his Webley-Fosbery with both hands.
The vampire was in no rush. With a fastidious grimace, he threw his soiled kerchief underfoot and smiled:
"Allow me to introduce myself: the name’s Lazarus."
Then he frowned, and hid the sharp needle fangs under his upper lip. Now, only the dead black eyes remained to remind me that the creature before us was no human, but a supernatural being.
I had a perfect understanding of how infinitesimally small our chances were of escaping this alive, but all the same, I found the strength in myself to joke:
"Not the Lazarus, I hope?"
The vampire shook his head:
"My boy, I’m not so stupidly gauche as to go around claiming such things but the name is, in fact, no coincidence. Just as the Savior returned the biblical Lazarus from the dead, so too was I returned to life in a similar fashion. But I came back on my own, with no help. Now do you understand why the name seemed appropriate?"
"Moniker, surely. That's no name, it's a moniker," I objected, squeezing the flamethrower tank under my elbow all the harder.
The face of my opponent remained utterly fearless in response to my claim. I couldn't sense any aristocratic delicacy in him. He more closely resembled a very successful businessman or theater impresario. His thin mustache was fashionably curled. His brows were plucked. His expensive suit was a shade of crimson with a fresh carnation in the buttonhole.
He was a well-groomed man of average height and solid build.
A normal person.
But that impression was all spoiled by his eyes. The black dead eyes dashed the image of an honest citizen to pieces; they were an unambiguous sign that it was all just a mask that hid your worst nightmare behind it.
Not death, no. Helplessness.
A normal person had no way to withstand a creature that called itself Lazarus. Illustrious gentlemen, it should be said, did not either.
"A moniker?" asked the vampire, tilting his head as he thought over my words. He then shook his head. "No, it's no mere moniker," he stated. "As the popes of old would take a new name on their enthronement, I also chose a new name as I stepped into my new life. My name truly is Lazarus now. I have no other. Over the long centuries, this name has become a part of me. It means incomparably more than the one I was given by my parents."
The vampire waved his hand carelessly and started walking around the sarcophagus; we took a step back, not allowing him to get closer. The path out of the room was now cl
ear, but a rash attempt at fleeing could end in nothing but a torturous death. Man could never compare in speed with an otherworldly beast.
"Maybe it's time for a grenade?" Ramon whispered to me.
But Lazarus overheard.
"Are you trying to ruin my suit once and for all?" he snorted as he stepped over the Moor's smoking body. "Go on! Throw your grenade! Viscount, I already have a long list of grievances against you. That won't make it any worse."
"A long list? Would you allow me to inquire as to its contents?" I asked, not having made up my mind to start up the flamethrower.
The vampire was acting strange. He wasn't afraid of fire. Or, to be more accurate, I didn't sense such a fear in him. He walked around the puddle of burning kerosene in utter calm. He didn't even lean away. And he was smoking! He was smoking a cigarette!
"Oh! Most of the list you know perfectly well!" Lazarus declared. "But in essence, Viscount, you shouldn't have meddled in our game. Such things are not forgiven."
"What kind of game precisely, if you could illuminate me?" I asked.
But the vampire just shook his head.
"This is no time for conversations," he declared.
Then I pulled down on the lever, igniting the starter. And a moment later, Lazarus was on the attack! In one blistering burst, he jumped over to the sarcophagus, but a stream of gelled kerosene had already struck him in the face. The igniter hit the flammable liquid, and it caught; the vampire was splashed with flame, and he spun in place, embraced head to toe in lapping fire.
"Run!" I roared to Ramon, myself stepping back, continuing to shoot the flaming mixture at the disoriented bloodsucker.
The flame roared. An unbearable fire flew into his face, but Lazarus still wasn’t about to fall over. His clothes were almost totally burnt up. Not a trace remained of his hair. But, at that, the vampire was still standing, and even found the strength to move against the stream of flame.
Twenty seconds of hellfire did no damage to him at all, but in that time, Ramon and I managed to get to the room's exit. And there, the flamethrower gave its last portion of kerosene and went out. It did, however, keep sprinkling flaming sparks from the igniter into the darkness.
Lazarus spit fire and gave a hoarse, fitful laugh:
"You'll need a bit more to stop me than plain old Greek fire!"
I didn't listen to him, just turned and ran as fast as I could.
From behind, I heard the rapid clatter of his footsteps, but I didn't look, just grabbed a hand grenade from my pocket and ducked into a narrow opening under a column. And when I jumped out the other side, I only had the pin in my fingers.
"Run!" I shouted to Ramon as a muted explosion blasted out behind us. The columns couldn't bear it, and sagged down, interring the vampire in their wreckage, but I had no certainty they would hold him for long.
"Run!" I shouted out again and ran for the exit.
Ramon darted behind me without delay.
We flew up the stairs; the acrid char was replaced by a musty basement smell, and I finally managed to take a little breather. Coughing and hacking, I cleared my lungs and throat, let Ramon out in front and, with renewed force, ran after my partner. Skipping the beam of my electric torch over the walls, I saw here and there the white marks Ramon had left. And that guiding thread helped us not get lost in the underground labyrinth, and carry ourselves to the exit.
It was just a little foresight, but it had just saved our lives.
And we really did get out just in the nick of time. When we had run up to the charred remains of the bhut, from somewhere in the distance, there came the echo of a new landslide, followed by an utterly inhuman wail full of hateful rage.
The cry, echoing at a rapid frequency, stuck into our backs like dozens of ghostly knives, spurring us on like a pair of horses. I was catastrophically low on breath. My legs felt like they were filling with lead. My sprained foot was exploding with pain at every step, but I ran, ran, and ran, trying not to lose sight of the bright torch spot jumping around in front of Ramon.
I simply cannot imagine by what miracle I had the strength to run the rest of the way to the catacomb exit. Obviously, fear helped; there was more than enough of that.
At the sheer drop, Ramon waited for me and gave me a boost. I grabbed the rope and climbed up. My low weight and long hands and legs gave me a decent advantage, and I got out of the cave far in advance of my partner. But, despite how much I wanted to fall to the ground in exhaustion, I didn't just lie there once up. Instead, I grabbed onto the rope and started pulling Ramon after me.
Another echoing ghastly wail flew up. I got startled and nearly fell back down. The vampire was closing in on us. Closing in!
I grabbed my partner by the hand, pulled him up and ran to the exit. I jumped out headlong from the cave and dashed to the self-propelled carriage, but then Ramon caught up to me, knocked me off my feet and pressed me to the ground.
I gasped in fear and pain and, just then, the machine gun in the rear of the armored car started thundering. The burst of fire passed right over my head and exploded into a cloud of stone shards in the depths of the cavern. The high-caliber bullets whipped against the vampire like a deadly lash as he climbed out of the catacombs. And though they didn't knock him off his feet, they did throw him back, slowing his pace.
Lazarus jumped aside, but the cave didn't really offer anywhere to hide. The machine-gun burst eventually reached him there, too. I shoved Ramon off me as he pressed his head in his hands and shouted into his ear in a vain attempt to overcome the deafening thunder of the shots:
"Get in the car!"
Ramon started to get out of the zone of fire, climbing into the vehicle; I crawled directly toward the armored carriage and, when I was already almost up to it, the Gatling gun went silent. The electric wire, with a measured buzzing, continued spinning the barrel block, but there were no more bullets.
In one moment, I jumped into the back of the carriage. The leprechaun's elated cry piped up from behind the machine gun: "Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!" With the last of my strength, I barked out:
"Ramon, drive!"
I heard the clap of the doors and, just then, Lazarus came out of the cave, broken down but alive, insofar as such a term could ever apply to vampires. The charred remains of his once-expensive suit were hanging off him like pitiful rags, but neither fire nor high-caliber bullets could do any real damage to the inhuman beast.
Lazarus made an unintelligible, rage-filled scream and started running again.
I, calmly, as if this were a training exercise, loaded another belt of bullets into the machine gun and, after clapping the top shut, grabbed the smoking handle of the Gatling gun when the vampire had already overcome half the distance between us. I pushed down the knob with my thumb and round casings flew in all directions, bouncing off the car walls. The leaden lash whipped Lazarus across the chest, making him fall the earth and roll.
The car's engine gave a jump and a number of very frequent rattles. The heavy self-propelled carriage, picking up speed at a mad pace, raced down the hill. A sharp jolt moved the sights of my gun, allowing the vampire to get to his feet again and throw himself on pursuit, but I instantly readjusted my aim and thrashed him with another short, calculated burst. And I did so again and again until we finally made it away and the bloodsucker was lost from view behind the trees.
All that time, the leprechaun was standing on the opened tailboard of the car and waving his hand with a mocking middle finger.
The situation was obviously funny to the pipsqueak; I though, wanted to kick him in the ass so he'd fall out.
And I would have done so, but I had no strength remaining.
None at all.
RAMON DROVE up to the suburbs without stopping. And he would have driven further, if the water in the radiator hadn't nearly boiled off. So, he just drove down an unpopulated little village street that crossed the road, stopped and threw back the hood. He leaned up against the armored car and let the rain come dow
n on his uncovered head, having lost his peaked cap at some point.
With round casings ringing out on the floor, I jumped out of the rear I'd spent the whole ride in and raised the tailboard, hiding our machine-gun installation from curious onlookers. Then I threw my face to the sky, took a heavy sigh and walked up to my partner. The leprechaun joined us as if nothing was going on, took a seat on the running board and set about rolling a cigarette.
"What is that?" Ramon asked, pointing at him.
"A friend," I answered curtly and threw a sugar-drop into my mouth. After what just happened, I was still shivering.
"A friend?" my hulking partner clarified.
I nodded. Then Ramon shook his head and extended his hand:
"My money?" And when I'd counted out his thousand francs, and he'd hidden them in his pocket, he suddenly declared: "This is it for me."
"What do you mean?" I replied, not understanding.
"Forget my name," Ramon demanded. "I never intend to do business with you again, are we clear?"
"Ramon, what's gotten into you?"
"What's gotten into me?" the squat man grew red in anger. "First, I was nearly done in by the werewolf, and now this abomination! It was a miracle we escaped, Leo! A miracle! What will happen tomorrow? You wanna go hunting for demons? It'll have to be without me!"
"Wait..."
"No!" Ramon shouted back abruptly. "I’m not gonna be waiting this time. And I'm not gonna be risking my head anymore, either! I've had enough!"
"Come off it!"
"Leo! Are you even listening to me?" Ramon asked, exasperated and holding his hand out before him. "You're not the same person I used to know, Leo. You used to be cautious, with plenty of foresight. You didn't used to rush headlong into any old adventure!"
"I just want to figure this all out!"
"Then go figure it out! Figure it out on your own, and leave me out of it!" Ramon demanded and added for some strange reason: "Devilry, your eyes have even changed! They aren't just glowing, they're burning! Leo, something's wrong with you!"