by Declan Finn
“Which?” he asked.
“Well, it might be more than a few.”
“Of course it is. Which streets?”
“First Avenue from East Forty-Second to East Forty-Eighth, and from First Avenue to the River down both of those streets.”
The PC leaned back in the chair. “The UN.”
“Correct. We have reason to believe that there is a nest of malevolent vampires working there. We want to flush the building. In more ways than one.”
Wilson frowned. He folded his hands together and placed them on his chest. Then he stared straight down his body to the floor again. Merle could see him doing the math.
“Are you going to shut down the FDR as well?” Wilson asked after a few seconds.
Merle shook his head. “I can’t see any reason for it. Even the UN tunnel is unlikely. Especially with the way we have the operation set up.”
Wilson raised a brow. “Define ‘operation.’ Are you going to hit them with ordnance? Because if you intend to have a pitched battle in the middle of my city in broad daylight, there’s only so much I can do.”
Merle shook his head. “I’m going to need some action with the DWP. Shutting down the streets is just a precaution. We’re just going to, well, flood them a little.”
Both of Wilson’s eyebrows went up this time. “Really? Explain.”
Merle smiled.
By the time the conversation was over, Merle had full authorization to launch his cleaning operation on the United Nations.
The first wave of the attack was an “accident,” mostly with explosives under the Secretariat building, the concrete and glass domino that stood up and out from the rest of the UN compound. The explosion wasn’t designed to do any more than break some tall sheets of tinted glass that shrouded the building. A good collection of the windows cracked and shattered, letting in plenty of glorious purifying daylight.
From the images on the thermal scopes, three dozen vampires went up like flash paper within a few seconds of being hit with full sunlight.
That was only part one.
The explosion and the vampires going up in smoke was more than enough to set off the fire system. The entire sprinkler system went off, saluted by fire sirens and red flashing lights. Before it went through any of the pumps, the water had first gone through a 500-gallon barrel drum of holy water.
Most of the vampires didn’t even have the chance to say “I’m melting! What a world! What a world!” The screams of the vampires flooded the building, merging with the cries of panic from the humans who worked there, too.
Other vampires tried to escape. Not only were there sewer tunnels, but there was also a specifically-designed escape tunnel that was meant to take vampires out of the building and to safety. Just in case of a daylight attack.
However, that was another part of the plan that Merle needed to clear with the commissioner. An hour before the explosion shook the building, Merle had his people find every fire hydrant around the UN building, run them through the drums of holy water, and flood the street, and straight into the sewers. The explosion cracked the escape tunnels, engulfing them in water.
The vampires who rushed into the tunnels ran right into the ankle-deep tides of blessed water. Thanks to the nature of the damage, blessings dripped on them from above.
No one was around to hear their screams.
The entire process took very few hours.
Chapter 19
Lost in a Good Bite
By the time Merle Kraft and his commandos had polished off the vampire population of the United Nations, Marco had finished four steaks and mugs of beef barley soup.
“Merle and George said you’d be hungry,” Robert explained as he sat at the table with a sandwich. He smiled sardonically at Marco tearing through the food. “I’m glad I listened. I would hate for you to eat the pattern off of the plate.”
Marco swallowed the last mouthful and shrugged. “Sorry about that. No idea where that came from.”
“Unlike my virus,” Amanda explained, “the shapeshifter virus uses what resources your body has. It takes away from you, as well as adds. You’re going to lose what little body fat you have.”
Marco frowned. Looking back, it would explain why he had never seen George Berkeley eat anything. He had probably done all of his eating in private. And his body fat had already been used to heal his arms last night.
He narrowed his eyes at the blood on the plate, thinking over the effects. “Your virus enhances my stamina because it wants to keep the food stock alive. The shapeshifter virus uses what I have to mess with my physiology.” He shook his head and found it hard to concentrate.
Robert frowned, and looked at Amanda. “So every time that you bite Marco, your virus is actually doing double duty—it has to boost his stamina, and fight off the shapeshifter virus?”
Amanda nodded. “Exactly.”
Marco looked from Amanda to his father and tried to track the conversation. It was stupid because he knew something about what they were talking about, but it was like trying to think through a fog.
There was a chime of Darth Vader breathing, then another. Marco blinked, trying to figure out what it was. Robert and Amanda looked at him.
“Are you going to get that?” Robert asked.
Marco blinked again and shook his head firmly. He felt his pockets, pulling out his phone. He squinted at it, suddenly tired. He stared at the screen that had the text alert. “Huh. How did I forget my own alert sound? Who would I program for… oh, it’s Hendershot.” He clicked open the text message. His eyes widened. “This could be bad.”
Marco stood so fast he knocked the chair over. He charged for the front hallway. He grabbed the door and ripped it open.
There, standing in the clear light of day, was a tall, dark and menacing figure.
Misha.
He stood in the middle of the street, in front of the hole made by the exploding minions the night before.
Marco leaned over to one side, hoping that this was yet another illusion, like the Yana image he’d had a conversation with. Frowning, he picked up a rock from the stoop and tossed it underhanded. It bounced off of Misha’s chest.
The vampire raised an eyebrow. “Really? You couldn’t tell?”
Marco shrugged. “It’s been a tough day or two.”
Misha grinned. Though it was broad daylight, the vampire’s eyes had become deeper and darker. His eyes were even losing the whites.
A loud boom broke the silence, and Misha’s head snapped to the side. He staggered a little before he straightened. Misha looked up over his right shoulder, at the third-floor apartment window. There was a fifty-caliber rifle at the window.
Marco looked from the rifle muzzle to Misha. The bullet had gone right through the vampire’s head, without a trace of damage, though Misha’s head should have blown clear off his shoulders.
The vampire pointed right at the window. “You get one shot.”
The ninja in the window fired again. Misha looked away, and the bullet simply bounced off the air near Misha’s head. “Where were we?” Misha asked.
Four windows opened at four different apartments around the area, and suddenly the air exploded with the sound of fully automatic gunfire. Bullets pinged off of what looked like a shield around Misha’s head and shoulders. Every projectile just suddenly stopped for no reason.
Misha paid them no attention and merely smiled at Marco. “I can smell the stink of lycanthropy running through your veins.” He stepped forward, and the trail of bullets followed him.
The rear doors opened on a van down the street revealing a Dillon minigun, which fired thirty-caliber rounds at 3,000 rounds a minute. The sort of thing that could cut down a tree while setting it on fire.
The minigun opened up with a roar. The stream of bullets punched through Misha, cutting through the air and Misha like he wasn’t there. The bullets continued through, striking a big black car on the other side of the street. In a shower of sparks, the bullets pun
ched through the massive jeep, ripping it crosswise from the grill to the tailpipe. The resulting wreckage looked as though it had been split with a can opener.
Misha’s coat split in half in the hailstorm of bullets. The hem of his long coat fell off, and his shirt was neatly shorn in two.
Misha sighed as though bored. The air solidified from the crown of his head and down his sides, all the way to his feet. The rounds from the minigun stopped dead only a few inches from Misha’s coat.
“I prefer my clothing to be neat. Do you know how hard it is to find Armani in my size?”
Marco stared at the vampire. The casual sartorial comment jarred him, striking a very distant bell of memory. Only it felt like an alarm bell.
Amanda stood at Marco’s side and growled. Marco did as well, but slammed his hand against the door frame, keeping himself from stepping past the threshold, and keeping Amanda there as well.
Misha smiled. He stepped forward, and the bullets stopped. Either the ninjas had decided that he was a waste of ammo, or they were coming up with a new plan. Or both. “Very good. I want you both dead, but I’d hate for it to be too easy. Amanda forgetting herself and coming out into the daylight with me?”
“What are you doing?” Amanda spat. “If you were really so powerful, you would be destroying us right now.”
Misha narrowed his eyes and smiled at her. “No. If I were truly powerful, I would be down at the United Nations, slaughtering Merle Kraft and his men. But they’re throwing too much holy water around for my taste.” He grinned, revealing his fangs.
Marco reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial and stopper. He looked at the clear liquid, and studied it, as though it was a surprise that it was in there.
Marco looked at Amanda. “Holy water.”
Amanda did a double take. “Of course.”
“Oh. Good,” he said casually. He pulled back and threw it for Misha’s body. The vampire didn’t look too nervous. His eyes flicked to the sidewalk. The concrete of the curb broke away from the street, shot into the air, and intercepted the vial.
Misha held up a finger and slowly waggled it back and forth.
Amanda clapped her hand on his shoulder. “Marco, he can stand out in broad daylight and block any incoming ordnance that isn’t holy. Why is he just standing there?”
“Crap.”
The sounds of windows shattering came from all over the house—upstairs, the side windows, the back of the house. Marco turned, ready to engage all comers.
Amanda kept her eyes on Misha. He grinned and raised his hands. Rectangular slabs of concrete ripped up from the sidewalk, dripping gravel and debris. They hovered like flying saucers, spinning in place.
The concrete then flew straight for the both of them.
Amanda tackled Marco, throwing him off to the side. The concrete sliced through the doors the stairs, and the wall of the front hall embedding in the wall. It crumbled in place, taking parts of the house with it.
“This isn’t good.”
The dining room of the Catalano residence was straightforward. It was a long room, designed for a long table. Off to the side, there were some pieces of furniture—a sideboard for drinks, a china cabinet for the good plates, and, atop the china cabinet, a wooden box for the good flatware.
When Marco and Amanda rushed outside, Doctor Robert Catalano went immediately for the box of flatware. He took it down from the top of the cabinet and moved his back up against the wall, so he could see both entrances to the dining room. He opened it up, and immediately took out the good carving knives, as well as the several serving forks, and five steak knives.
When all of the windows broke in, Robert knew he would have a use for all of the sharp objects.
The first freak to come through the door from the kitchen by way of the back door. Big and bulky, enough hair covered it that Robert couldn’t tell if it was a were-something or a hippie with low grooming standards. It snarled like an animal—or like a meth head on a bender—and leaped for him.
Robert knew that he didn’t want to get scratched by this creature, if only to avoid supernatural or regular infections. He ducked as it swiped for him. With the precision that came with training, Robert lashed out with the carving knives. Jamming the blade in the space between its legs, he slashed the inside of the thigh.
The were-something flew past him and whirled, snarling, ready to take him on again. It took one step forward on the slashed leg, and crumpled. The creature looked down its snout and saw that the leg was a mass of blood.
Robert had slashed open its femoral artery with the carving knife.
There was a reason that Robert had insisted on keeping the good silver close at hand.
A growl echoed from behind him.
In a matter of seconds, his attacker seized Robert by the arms, and lifted him into the air. On the way back down, he slammed against the dining room table, breaking the table top and the legs.
Robert looked up at his attacker, and this wasn’t a thing. It was a six-foot fall, well-built, bipedal wolf.
And it smiled at him down a muzzle filled with razor-sharp teeth.
Misha laughed as the havoc broke loose around him. The Vatican ninjas opened fire once more. The only thing that made the ninjas a problem for Misha was their prayerful mediation during combat. This practice created a bubble, making them almost invisible to vampire senses. They were impossible to detect by an average vampire who made a passive scan. A vampire of Misha’s ability, actively scanning every inch of the space, found the ninjas’ locations from voids in his search. He could find their presence because they created a gap in what should be there.
In Misha’s case, these bubbles made Vatican ninjas untouchable to his supernatural abilities—he couldn’t strangle them with his mind, nor could he otherwise manipulate them like any person or object unblessed.
However, that didn’t stop him from throwing building faces and concrete at them.
He reached out under the rubble generated by the sniper who first shot him with the fifty-caliber. He grabbed the nearest load-bearing wall, and pulled with his mind. A solid slab of stonework that was over ten feet long, eight feet wide, and a foot thick ripped out of the rubble, shaking debris off and raising through the building. Then he let it drop, collapsing several supports in the building with a shudder and a symphony of crashes. The structure creaked loudly but still held. A cloud of dust rose, clouding the sniper’s view and swirled around Misha like a cloak.
But he wasn’t done.
His eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and the slab rose from the wreckage of the lower floor, then rotated so that it was horizontal.
Misha’s eyes flicked to the building across from the sniper. That ninja brought out a crossbow to nail him through the heart.
Misha sent the massive stone wall straight for that ninja’s perch. It sped across the street like a stealth bomber, leaving an ominous, wide shadow as it traveled. Then the wall smashed into the building, slicing the top floor in half, from the window sill to the roof.
The other building creaked and trembled. Misha heard the sniper gasp as the walls and floor started to buckle and sag around and underneath him.
Misha grinned.
Time to deal with the others.
The window to the front room imploded, showering glass in a wide scatter. An anonymous body armored man in all black burst through the opening, wiping away glass with a well-protected arm. He was built like a bear, wearing a helmet, and carrying an AK-107 automatic rifle. With another sweep of his arm, he took the curtains with him, ripping the curtain pole from the window, and flooding the front room with sunlight. As he came to his feet, he knew he was protected from Amanda Colt.
However, that didn’t help defend him from Marco. He charged straight at the shooter, hands outstretched. He slammed into the automatic rifle, grabbing it. Marco spun, but the minion held on with all of his preternatural strength.
This was fine with Marco because he was swinging with all of
his new supernatural strength that came with being a shapeshifter.
Marco’s pull lifted the minion off his feet and slammed him headfirst against the brick of the fireplace. The helmet probably saved whatever life he had. Marco grinned as he reached up behind the helmet, then over and around. He grabbed the helmet’s visor and pulled it down, snapping the minion’s head back. The minion’s throat was exposed.
Marco’s throat strike broke bone.
Before the minion could explode like the others had, Marco twisted, throwing the minion out the window into the street.
As Misha turned his attention to the remaining ninjas, one of his minions came flying out through the first-floor window of the Catalano brownstone. It hit the street and rolled, landing at Misha’s feet like a spurned offering. The body already glowed with the energies that had been dumped into it.
“Oh darn.”
Misha leaped to one side a split second before the corpse exploded in a white-hot fireball that pocked the pavement. Not even the vampire wanted to test himself against it, nor did he have the time to drain off the minion’s energy before exploding.
Glass bottles of holy water sailed down from the windows above him. Misha waved a hand, and two parts of the street ripped and folded like sheet metal. The strips of asphalt bent and twisted up in front of Misha like a shield, taking the holy water for him.
The one manning the minigun in the van opened up with the weapon again. Misha spared it a glance, and with a flip of his wrist, flipped the van nose over tail with his mind, simply knocking it onto its roof, facing the other direction. He could kill the operator of the minigun later.
The next bottles came over the asphalt barriers, and Misha jumped away, landing down the street. He wheeled around, skidded to a stop on one knee, and with a roar, he held up both hands. Mentally he pushed on the base of the two homes where the ninjas had taken up positions.