As the young man unloaded several large cardboard boxes from the back of the truck, he said, “Had a helluva time finding this place. It ain’t on no maps.”
Elijah smiled as he mentally counted the boxes. “That’s the idea,” he said simply.
“Huh?” the driver asked over his shoulder as he pulled the last box off the truck.
“Never mind, just glad you could follow the directions I left with the shipper.”
“Oh,” the driver said, dusting his hands off and reaching for the clipboard. “You have a nice day.”
“You too,” Elijah said, waving as the driver climbed back in his truck and drove back down the driveway.
* * *
Once the truck was out of sight of the house and the sound of his engine had faded away, Matt and Shooter stepped from the bushes nearby.
“That’s a lot of boxes,” Shooter said, sticking his 9 mm back in its holster.
Elijah picked one up and threw it over his shoulder. “Wait until you see what’s in them,” he said, enigmatically.
Chapter 28
The vice president of the United States, Jonathon Burton, was sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands when his daughter, Allison, entered.
“Hey, Dad,” she called, stopping in midsentence when she saw the troubled look on his face.
Burton’s wife and Allison’s mother had died two years before without ever getting to see him elected to the second highest elected office in the United States. Since that time, Allison and he had been rocks for each other, developing a much closer relationship than most fathers had with their teenaged children.
Allison stood in the doorway and cast out with her mind to try and use her new psychic powers to see what was troubling her dad. Even though she could usually read him like a book, this time all she could get was his emotional state of mind, and she was unable to “hear” any specific thoughts. She could tell, however, that he was severely depressed and worried, but just what he was so worried about eluded her.
Finally, she went to the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice and poured herself a glassful. She took it and sat at the breakfast table across from him, drumming her fingers on the wood and staring at his red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes and pale, pasty skin. If he goes to the office looking like this, she thought, they’ll call in a doctor for sure.
Even though the family dining area was off-limits to the Secret Service agents who guarded them, she glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before she asked, “Hey, Daddy, what’s the problem? Why are you so glummy-jaws this morning?” she asked, deliberately using the term he always used with her when she was down in the mouth.
He sighed heavily and raised his head, smiling sadly at her as he took a drink of his coffee. He made a face, saying, “It’s cold.” He got up to refill his cup with fresh coffee, walking with the slow, shuffling gait of a much older man, or one with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Well?” she demanded, not willing to let him put her off this morning. She fully intended to give him no rest until he came clean with whatever was bothering him. After all, since Mom died, they’d always looked out for each other, and she wasn’t about to let that change now just because of a little thing like being changed into Vampyres.
Instead of sitting back down at the table, he leaned back against the kitchen island and crossed his legs at the ankles as he sipped his morning brew, watching her over the rim of the cup as he drank. She could tell nothing from his expression, which remained blank, giving her no clue as to his thoughts.
“Will you open your mind to me before I answer?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Allison shrugged. “Sure,” she answered. She didn’t mind because since she’d transformed her father into a Vampyre like her, she had no real secrets from him. And even though they’d had a brief sexual episode during the transformation when both were under the irresistible influence of the raging hormones the act stirred up, it had been the last one between them. And so it was that they couldn’t read each other’s mind like true mates can often do. In fact, they’d reverted back to the same kind of father-daughter relationship they had before the transformation, only even closer now.
She hoped when she opened her mind to him, he would return the favor and reciprocate by letting her fully into his thoughts and fears. Maybe then she’d be able to help him with whatever was bothering him.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, granting him full access to her thoughts and feelings. It was a measure of the trust between them that she held nothing back, not even her innermost thoughts, as embarrassing as those sometimes were.
When he entered her mind, she giggled. It felt like someone was tickling her brain with a feather—not an unpleasant feeling, merely strange. In fact, the warmth she felt with him in her mind reminded her of the times when she was a small girl and she would climb up into his lap and he’d put his arms around her, hugging her close—making her feel protected from all the bad things in the world.
After a few moments, he grinned and moved to sit next to her at the table. “I’m glad to find out that you’re not really tied to this Theo Thantos’s scheme for Vampyres to take over the world,” he said, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t carry more than a few yards.
She laughed. “Dad, as if someone my age could get all caught up in that . . .” she hesitated and then said with some distaste, “political shit.”
He almost automatically told her to watch her language until he caught himself with a smile. After all she’d been through recently, he guessed she had a right to curse occasionally. “Well, I’m relieved to find it out anyway,” he said. “It makes me feel a lot better about some things I’ve been thinking about.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked into his. “Why, Pops? I thought you’d be all gung ho for this kind’a stuff. Isn’t running the world what you’ve worked your entire life to achieve?”
He sighed again and leaned back in his chair, surprised that she didn’t know him better than that. “No, dear, not this way. Not by subterfuge and stealing the government from the people without their knowledge and approval. In fact,” he added somewhat stiffly, “it’s just that sort of thing that prompted me to go into politics in the first place—I wanted to give the people more of a say in their government.”
She nodded and gave him a half smile. “You really are, down deep under all that political bullshit, you really are a true patriot, aren’t you, Dad?”
He blushed and returned her smile self-consciously. “I guess I am after all, even though when you say it out loud like that it sounds kind’a schmaltzy.” He shook his head. “Boy, would your mother be surprised to find me turning down the job of being the next president.”
Allison reached across the table and put her hand on his arm. “No, she wouldn’t, Dad. Mom always knew you were a boy scout at heart. She told me more than once that she didn’t know if you were cut out to be in politics—you were just too decent a guy for that kind of career.”
He threw back his head and laughed, tears forming in his eyes. “Your mother knew me too well, baby, and about the only thing that kept me going when she died was the fact that you remind me so much of her.”
“Now,” Allison said, again looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was around, “what are we gonna do about this Thantos and his plans? Can you go public to someone in the government who can stop him?”
He shook his head. “No, not without exposing the entire Vampyre race to public scrutiny.”
She shrugged. “So what?”
“No, Allison, that wouldn’t be right. I’m sure that ninety percent of the people in the world who’ve been transformed as we were, against our will, are decent souls who don’t deserve to be hunted down and killed like animals.”
“Even though they, and we for that matter, will have to kill others to get the blood we need to survive?”
“Somehow, as horrible as it sounds, I just can’t s
ee killing to stay alive as morally wrong,” he said. “It may not be fair to those who are killed and used as food, but then the cows probably wish we didn’t like hamburger so much either.”
She nodded, seeing his point. “Well,” she said, squeezing her hand in his, “you’ve always taught me that there are two sides to every argument, especially in politics.”
“Yes, so?”
“Then if that’s true, there must be a group of Vampyres who are against this Thantos and what he’s trying to do. All we have to do is contact them and get them to work with us to defeat the son of a bitch.”
Burton nodded slowly. She was right. The answer had been right under his nose the whole time. His face got serious. “You’re right, baby, but we’ve got to be very careful. Remember, these people we’re dealing with can read minds, or at least emotions. We’re going to have to lock our thoughts and feelings down very tightly whenever we’re around any of them until we can find someone to help us.”
“How are we going to do that, Dad? Find someone who’s on our side, I mean.”
He wagged his head, his lips tight and white. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I just don’t know right now.”
“Maybe I could kind’a feel out some of my new Vampyre friends and see if they’ve run across anyone who’s opposed to Thantos.”
His eyes grew worried and she felt his hand under hers become damp with fear-sweat. “No, that’s much too dangerous, Allison. They’d see right through you and our lives wouldn’t be worth spit.”
She grinned conspiratorially, “Now Daddy, you’re forgetting who I’m related to—one of the master politicians of our time. If I can’t pull the wool over some Vampyre from the sticks, then I don’t deserve to be your daughter.”
He smiled back hesitantly. “Do you really think you can do it?”
“No problemo,” she answered, quoting one of her favorite old movie stars.
He sighed and leaned back, looking at her with affection. “By the way,” he said, hesitantly, “speaking of needing blood to survive, have you felt what Thantos calls the hunger yet?”
She shrugged. “A little, I guess, but so far it’s not overpowering or anything. I figure I’ve got another week or so before I need to do something about it.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Though sometimes I feel like a man who’s trying to quit smoking—I think about drinking blood several times a day and I can feel myself getting . . . uh . . . excited,” he finished, blushing slightly at the admission.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” she said, putting her hand on his, “we’ll think of something before it comes to that.”
Chapter 29
Elijah had the boxes spread out in the middle of the main room’s floor in his cabin. One by one, with the others watching intently, he went from box to box and opened them. As he spread the contents out on the floor, stacking the contents neatly into separate piles, Shooter gave a low whistle.
“Man, that is some serious firepower you got there, Elijah.”
“Yeah,” Ed echoed, fingering one of the instruments curiously. “If I ever want to start a war, I’ll know who to call to get my weapons.”
Elijah’s face was serious and he didn’t join in the banter as he usually did. It was a good indication of just how worried he was about their upcoming course of action. “What we all need to understand is that this action we’re about to take is a war, and it’s a war to the death—either theirs or ours.”
He looked from one to the other of his friends, each in turn. Even though with their new powers, the group was able to communicate solely by telepathic means, it was much simpler and more convenient to continue in the way they always had before, by talking things out.
“Make no mistake about it, my friends,” he continued, “Thantos and his cronies will give no quarter, and neither will we.” He sighed, staring into their eyes so they’d know the seriousness of his words. “Once we go after Thantos and his minions, it won’t be too long before all-out war is declared on us. We all know and remember from our previous encounter with he and Michael Morpheus that Thantos and those like him are the worst kind of megalomaniacs, and anyone who has the temerity to disagree with their beliefs is a dreaded enemy, to be defeated or killed. Everyone in his group will be charged with the task of trying to find us and eliminate us and the risk we represent to their ambitions of global conquest.”
“And you’re sure that there’s no other way?” Kim asked, shaking her head slowly. “ ’Cause to tell you the truth, Ed and I have never been exactly what you’d call revolutionaries. Even after we became transformed, we never really immersed ourselves in the so-called Vampyre culture or community.”
Ed smiled at her and took her hand, waiting for Elijah’s answer.
“No, I’m afraid there is no other way that I can think of, other than to go after them with everything we’ve got,” Elijah said. “We can’t expose them publicly without also exposing thousands of innocent members of our race at the same time, which would lead to yet another kind of war—one with the Normals that we would stand no chance at all of winning.”
He turned back to his weapons and emptied the last of the boxes out onto the floor.
“Why don’t you take us through all of this stuff and explain how some of it operates,” Sam said, eager to get off the subject of war, even if it meant discussing the very weapons they’d be using in that war.
Elijah looked at her and nodded as he squatted down next to a row of seven long swords and scabbards, each of which had a shorter version next to it. “These, as most of you know, are Japanese katanas. The typical long swords favored by the Samurai warriors in the old days. They’re razor sharp and will cut through stainless steel if you swing hard enough.”
He took one in his hand and whipped it back and forth, almost twirling it in his dexterity. The group could hear a faint whistling as the wicked blade swished back and forth through the air. “These are handmade by a friend of mine and are exquisitely balanced and, despite their strength, light as a feather.”
“Why do you have the long ones and the other short ones over there?” Shooter asked, pointing to the other pile of shorter bladed swords lying nearby. “You don’t expect us novices to use one in each hand like they do in the martial arts movies, do you?”
“No,” Elijah answered, lightening up and laughing for the first time since he’d opened the boxes. “The longer katana are easier to use and can be used from a distance, but they’re much harder to conceal. You have to be wearing an overcoat or long coat to keep them from view.”
“Yeah,” Matt said, grinning and joining in the lighter mood, “who’d want to walk around Washington carrying a big honker sword in their hands?” He glanced at the others, “Hell, you’d have women and children running screaming in the streets and every cop within two miles calling for the SWAT teams.”
Elijah chuckled. “Exactly. So the shorter versions are for use when it’d be impossible to carry the longer ones. They’re just as sharp and just as effective, but you’ve got to get up close and personal to use these—at least within a foot or two.” He hesitated, “And believe me, at that distance, when you cut someone’s head off, you’re sure to be showered with blood, so we’ll probably only use these in isolated areas where we’ll be able to clean up before going out in public again.”
“I understand the swords,” Ed said, “since you have to behead a Vampyre to kill him. But what about the other things?” he asked, pointing to some handguns with long, pointed snouts on them. “I know those are pistols, but I don’t recognize the make.”
“Those are Desert Eagle 50 caliber automatic pistols, each fitted with what looks like a Ryerson Silencer,” Shooter broke in. “They’re the most powerful handguns in the world, as Clint Eastwood once said, though he was talking about a forty-four magnum—a much less powerful weapon.” Shooter raised his eyebrows at Elijah to see if he was right.
Elijah smiled and nodded. “That’s correct, Shooter, and I’ve got a case of Glaser
Safety Slugs for the pistols, enough for each of us to have plenty of bullets.”
Shooter gave a low whistle.
“Huh?” TJ said. “What the heck are Safety Slugs?”
“They’re hollow brass cartridges filled with tiny BBs immersed in silicone liquid,” Shooter answered. “Nasty little fuckers act like shotgun shells, exploding on impact and tearing a hole as big as a basketball in whomever they hit.” He glanced at Elijah, a slight frown on his face. “They’ve also been outlawed for the past few years, ever since they earned the reputation as cop-killer bullets. I didn’t even know they were still making them.”
Elijah gave a deprecating wave of his hand. “They’re not, but you can still find them on the black market—if you know the right people, that is.”
“If they’re so big and bad, why are they called Safety Slugs?” Matt asked.
“I think it’s because they won’t penetrate Kevlar bulletproof vests,” Shooter said. “The cops’ initial thought was for only cops to have them and if they used them they wouldn’t be liable to kill one of their comrades, all of whom would be wearing vests.” He shrugged. “Trouble was, they somehow got out on the black market like Elijah said and every mother’s son who wanted deadly bullets started using them. That’s when they were outlawed.”
“But Elijah,” TJ protested, “Bullets can’t kill us, so what good will these things do?”
“While it is true that bullets can’t ordinarily kill one of us, TJ, these weapons are special. In the first case, a hit to the chest will make a hole you can stick your fist through. Not fatal to one of us, but it will certainly put the target down for an extended period of time, long enough hopefully to do something of a more permanent nature while he’s down and out and helpless to defend himself.”
He paused and grinned. “On the other hand, if you manage a dead center hit to just about any part of the head with one of these Safety Slugs, it will take the head clean off, which should do the trick, even for one of our kind.”
Matt reached down and picked up one of the pistols, bouncing it in his hand as he examined it. “Jesus, Elijah, these things must weigh over two pounds. How do you expect the women to use them?”
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