Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two]

by Nick Pollotta

  "Not yet,” I growled in my official patented tough-guy voice. “Not unless you cooperate with the government fully in this serious matter."

  "How can I he'p ya, officer,” he croaked softly.

  "Sam, can you tell us what happened?” Raul said, tucking the top part of his commission booklet into a shirt pocket so the badge would always be in sight. A psychological inducement to help us maintain mental authority over the civilian.

  "Ya'll mean the crash?"

  "Yes."

  Furrowing his brow, the driver visibly tried to think fast. “Why, a skunk, yeah, a skunk, ran in front of the bus, and I swerved to avoid hittin’ the thing and hit a tree,” McGinty lied with a straight face. “Don't remember much after that."

  "You are an excellent poker player,” Raul complimented. “But we stopped at the Huntsville police station before coming here and saw the wreck. That vehicle was cut in half like it ran straight into a horizontal buzz-saw."

  He said nothing for a moment, and then offered a weak smile. “'friad, I dun know what yewr talkin’ about, sir."

  "Yet the ends of the cut were slightly slagged. Molten!” I snapped. “McGinty, you know what a laser beam is?"

  The expression on his face said that he did. Mystery Man had probably used a Disintegration Spell, or a tightly controlled Lightning Bolt, but either one would resemble a laser beam to the uninformed.

  "Well, enemy agents of a foreign country have stolen a working military prototype of a laser rifle from—” frantically I struggled to remember the local Army base. My memory failed, so I took a wild stab in the dark. “—Fort Washington. The Pentagon wants it returned."

  "America needs that weapon, Sam,” Raul added sounding sincere.

  "Was it the commies?” the man asked registering shock.

  Aside from China, were there any commies left in the world? But then, lying was part of the job. “Exactly,” I said grimly.

  "Well, shoot,” he said, patriotic resolve strengthening his voice. “I didn't wanna tell the truth for fear of going to the loony bin. But if it's for my country, guess I gotta."

  "We know most of the story, Sam,” Raul said. “Just tell us what you saw. Everything. The tiniest detail could be important."

  His hanging arm attempted to move, then McGinty scrunched his face in concentration. “It was Thursday, ‘bout noon, and I was driving a load over to Sayerton, when I spotted this here kook astanding on the berm. Sure caught my attention, ‘cause he was wearing a kimono, with a fishbowl on his head."

  The world went very still. I could hear my own breathing and the subtle machine noises of the monitors.

  "Did the fishbowl resemble a spacesuit helmet?” Raul asked, having trouble with the words.

  "Yep,” Sam said. “Jus’ like in the movies. Well, this guy shifted the book under his arm, then pointed a finger at me, and a white light shot out of his hand and hit the front of the bus. ‘It ‘er like a bar of white-hot steel. But there weren't no shock or even a bump. I jus’ sailed along straight on through till the gas tank ‘ploded.” He ruefully smiled. “I kin remember seeing the bottom half of the bus go arcing over the cornfield as the top flipped onto the roadway."

  "The spacesuit was wearing a kimono?” I asked to make damn sure I was hearing this correctly. “And carrying a book?"

  "A great big red book?” Raul asked in a small voice.

  "That's the one,” McGinty gave a shrug. “Know it sounds coon, but its gospel. By the way, how is the team doing? Any of the boys going to make it?"

  "The team?” I queried, my mind elsewhere.

  He gave a puzzled nod. “The football team. The boys I was hauling over to Sayerton for summer training.” Suddenly, McGinty became very suspicious. “Iffen you're cops, why don't you know ‘bout the Huntsville Pumas? Shoot, they won just about every game they ever played. Our boys be famous!"

  I cleared my throat. “Now don't your worry about them, Sam."

  The bus driver's eyes went wide, and he began to struggle. “Holy shit! Ya'll not the feds! Your'n the commies! Help! Help! Enemy agents! Chinese spies! Assassins! Help!"

  We looked Chinese? Firm but gentle, I clapped a hand over the injured man's mouth, then pulling his staff from under the bed, Raul tapped the patient on the head. With a sigh, McGinty went limp and started to snore. Oh hell, and everything had been going so well.

  "Ed, how soon till Jess contacts you?” Raul asked, de-materializing his staff. That way it was invisible, but constantly in his grasp and ready for use.

  Pulling back a sleeve, I glanced at my wristwatch. “Forty minutes."

  "Too damn long."

  "Agreed. Let's scram."

  "What's going on in there?” a voice shouted from the outside corridor. The handle and chair began to rattle. “Open this door!"

  Crossing the room, I kicked the chair out from under the handle. Immediately, the door slammed aside and a gang of orderlies rushed inward, toppling over each other. Nimble as ninjas, we squeezed by the squirming bodies, running past a shocked flock of doctor and nurses.

  Taking a side corridor, I tipped over a gurney full of bedpans in our wake to hinder pursuit and make enough racket to wake the dead. Or even the undead, for that matter. We wanted Mystery Man to attack us, but not here. A hospital was no place for open combat. We would be at too much of a disadvantage trying not to hurt the surrounding patients. Raul and I had to get out of here and fast.

  "Hey, you!” shouted a man in a hospital security uniform. “Stop!"

  Ah, the ancient song sung once more. What memories that brought back. I loved the classics.

  Leveling his invisible wand, Raul flicked a hand and the man toppled asleep. We hit the fire escape doors at full speed. The alarm rang once, my belt buckle vibrated and the bell went silent. We also did not want the police in on this matter.

  "A football team,” Raul said with meaning, as we danced down the emergency stairs. “Young, muscular men in the absolute prime of physical health."

  "It's a ready-made army,” I added. Sliding along the banister, I went from one landing to the next. I knew that I shouldn't, but old habits die hard. Whee!

  "And apparently, Mystery Man did more than capture the vaporous remains of Hoto and Tanner to hide their disappearance. He drank them and absorbed their powers!"

  Moving past the lobby level, we continued on to the basement which was packed with laundry carts, gigantic industrial washing machines and two orderlies already snoozing. How nice.

  "Is that possible?” I asked. “To drink a person?"

  "Shit yes! But so dangerous no sane person would even attempt such an act!"

  "Sane is not a word I use in the same sentence with Mystery Man. But did he get all of their abilities, or only parts?"

  "Parts, most likely. But I wouldn't lay book on it."

  "Book. Ha."

  "Sorry."

  Wrapping plastic sacks about ourselves, Raul and I exited by the never-ever-guarded garbage chute. It was a short slide, but a smelly one. Depositing the bags in a trash compactor, Raul changed our appearance into that of the pair of sleeping orderlies in the basement, and with exaggerated casualness we strolled through the parking lot, searching for a car to steal. The legal owner would be compensated later and we had to get out of here quickly. Taxis were even more dangerous than staying at the hospital. We needed an isolated phone and open combat stretch in case Mystery Men hit us early. One vehicle in particular caught our attention, and we headed that way.

  "So an insane alchemist, with the most powerful book of evil magic in existence, has absorbed the abilities of a mutant vampire and is wearing an alien battle suit,” Raul muttered softly, as we walked along the lines of parked cars. “Ed, this is big. Really big."

  "And extremely bad,” I added as we reached the car, an old luxury sedan with racing tires. Nondescript and powerful, it was tailor made for our needs. Couldn't be better.

  Coming close to the vehicle, I noted the keys were still in the ignition. Hold it. Th
is car was just a bit to perfect. My sunglasses said the area was clear, so I reached for my pocket EM scanner.

  "But what is the lunatic bastard planning to do tomorrow night?” snorted the mage, scratching at his neck. “What?"

  As I pointed my scanner at the sedan, the meter instantly hit the red line. That car was rigged to blow!

  "There's a knot in the rope,” I whispered, reaching for Raul's arm. But at the sound of my voice, the sedan flipped into the air on a strident column of flame and the concussion blast of the explosion smashed us to the rough pavement.

  Sometime later I awoke dazed, sprawled on the ground, and hurting in every part of my body not directly covered by torso armor. My ears rang with a painful silence. But vaguely through the acrid smoke, I could dimly perceive a score of car trunk lids pop open and out climbed a squad of pale young men in bedraggled football uniforms. They were large beefy specimens whose long, sharp, fangs shone unnaturally clean and white.

  Moving lightning fast, the vampires advanced upon us in broad sunlight.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rolling to my knees, I shrugged and snapped off a fast twelve rounds with both Magnums. One undead burst into dust, another clutched a wounded arm and a third was grazed in the throat from the wooden bullets. But my Model 66 Magnum was only loaded with silver and steel, so those three vampires just recoiled from the physical impact of the bullets.

  Retreating, the undead formed a circled as Raul and I went back to back in a standard two-man defensive position. I reloaded as Raul materialized his staff, its silver length weakly pulsating with power. This was the first chance I ever had of seeing a vampire in broad daylight. That is, for longer than thirty seconds. I had no damn idea how they were doing this unpleasant miracle, suntan lotion from the planet Krypton? So there had been a trap within the trap. My respect and hatred for Mystery Man went up another notch. He was good enough to be a Bureau 13 agent.

  Happily at this hour of the morning, the parking lot was deserted of people, sans us. Awkward, but functional combat room. However, our plan had been to detect the trap, summon aid, and then go into it, killing the operatives and burning our way up their rope of command until we found the top knot. But then, these were only high school kids. Vampires or not, how tough could they be?

  "R-47-12!” a slim vampire shouted crouching low behind the line of his fellow undead, the fingertips of one hand resting lightly on the ground. “Hut! Hut! Hut!"

  Hopefully, I glanced at Raul.

  "Basketball is my game,” the tall mage apologized.

  Great. I knew as much about football as I do that game with the stick and a diamond. It appeared that I was about to witness the effectiveness of having secret fight codes from the wrong side. Hoo boy.

  "Hut one! Hut two!” the vampire shouted.

  The front four dropped back and two others took off for the sides in a flanking maneuver, while the rest charged. There was only a single factor in our favor. These athletes had been taught to fight in a game, but we were trained to kill.

  Sidestepping a rushing Puma, I pumped two rounds into his head as a distraction, his protective helmet shattering into pieces under the booming impact of the Magnum slugs. Which is how it should be. As he yanked off the chin strap, I moved in close and stabbed him in the chest with a fountain pen. He jerked aside as I snapped off the cap.

  Thick acrid smoke started pouring from his chest and the undead monster began screaming as four fluid ounces of hydrofluoric acid dissolved everything it touched.

  Hydrofluoric acid is just about the nastiness stuff in the world. It nigh instantly dissolves anything with a carbon atom in its molecular construction and violently exploded even the most mild of flammables. The damn stuff could even eat stainless steel and glass! Nothing could safely hold the acid for very long, which was why I had filled my pen just prior to departing.

  With a sizzling hole in his torso big enough to drop kick a field goal through, his heart only a greasy memory of smoke in the air, vampire Bubba crumpled to the ground extremely dead. At least that weakness they still had. Fine, two down, nine to go.

  Reaching inside my shirt I pulled out a cross and since I'm Catholic it was hot with power. Time to meet Jesus, boys! The vampires sneered in hatred and from out of nowhere a football smashed into my hand with stinging force, sending the cross flying away into the weeds surrounding the parking lot lost for good. Raul got the same treatment with a plastic squirt gun filled with Holy Water. These guys had pinpoint accuracy with that pointy leather thing. No wonder the Pumas held the state championship. But I was a crack shot and their remaining two footballs got deflated the .357 Magnum way.

  But we went hand-to-hand, with them having the advantage. This was the middle of the night for me and after a two thousand mile teleport, Raul was not exactly brimming with magic.

  Running round a truck, Raul made ready to punch a vampire. The burly undead smiled contemptuously and spread his arms invitingly. But as the mage drove his fist forward, there was a flash and the mage's entire limb turned into dark wood. The vampire could only gasp as the living stake rammed into his heart and he exploded into ash. Three more undead were dead.

  Hmm, only the vampires killed with wood turned into dust. I filed that information away for future usage.

  "Tunafish!” Raul cried holding his staff aloft. I blinked as a burst of blinding light filled the parking lot. They didn't appear to notice. These guys must have some sort of protection against light.

  "Hut 14!” answered the slim undead.

  Feinting with my right, I slammed a left into another suck fiend and felt my signet ring jerk. Inside the nifty device was a coiled spring-steel rosette of razor blades, that snapped into action whenever it hit something hard. Like a head.

  Vampire Lad recoiled in pain as half his countenance was torn off. So I hit him again. Roaring in fury, he lunged and slipped on his own face. Using my full weight and all of my strength, I dropped and rammed my knee into his back. Above the noise and confusion, I clearly heard his spine crack and that was the end for him.

  Lightning and thunder said Raul was cutting loose. Turning quickly about, I rolled across the hood of an import, managed to stuff my pack of cigarettes down the numbered shirt of a Huntsville Puma and slapped it with my pistol. His chest burst into flames, started to dissolve, arms and legs jerked stiff with an electric stun charge, his scream was recorded, he turned green from poison and then exploded.

  A beating inhuman heart skittered across the parking lot to stop under a car. Tracking on the gas tank lid, I pumped six rounds in a cluster about the locked flap. The vampire was beneath the vehicle scrambling for his vital organ when the fuel tank detonated. The blast hurled the car into the air to crash down again on the half-a-brain fullback. He staggered into view a flaming humanoid torch and I let him have my derringer. The one trigger of the Belgium Nine fired all four of the .22 caliber barrels, and he was hit with a cold iron slug, a silver round, a soft lead dum-dum and a blessed wooden bullet.

  Poof. Ash. Wind.

  As I put my last reloaded into the Magnums, the slim vampire called ‘hut’ a few more times and remaining five hit us from every side.

  Firing both of my S&W .357 Magnums in a steady barrage, I tossed the pistols at the kids when the guns became empty. Kicking a vampire in the throat, I buried my knife into the ear of another sucker and was brutally tackled to the ground. I butted one in the groin, stabbed another with the awl of my Swiss Army knife and received an elbow in the teeth. Blood filled my mouth and I started to choke.

  "Manhattan Project!” Raul yelled gesturing.

  Despite the fact that I was drowning on my own blood and there were three snarling vampires fighting each other for the privilege of biting my tender neck, I smiled and tried to bury myself deeper underneath them.

  Suddenly there was a searing burst of light, deafening thunder boomed, the ground shook and a heat flash singed me even through the mass of limp cor
pses piled on top.

  As I struggled free from the stunned undead, I could see Raul standing on a bullseye of macadam surrounded by a steaming blast crater. The mage was smiling and removing rubber plugs from both ears. Body Boom was something a mage did only when none, repeat none, of his pals were nearby.

  A truck with real wood siding gave us the necessary tools and we started to stake the undead when I stopped. Ah, I was about to be extremely clever.

  "Hey Raul,” I slurred, then hawked and spit blood. “Maybe we can still burn this rope. Have you enough magic to do a full illusion?"

  His woebegone expression said no. Guess a personal nuclear blast took a lot out of a guy.

  Once more the taste of copper filled my mouth and I paused to spit red again. “Okay, can you polymorph two of these yahoos into duplicates of us?"

  Tilting his head, the mage listened to his staff, it was feebly flickering with magic. “Just barely, if I drain my belt and shoes, but I'll manage. It's a great idea and fresh bodies does facilitate matters."

  Gathering my pistols, I next retrieved knives and hacked the unconscious vampires to pieces, scattering the now dead body parts and dusty ash around so it would not be immediately obvious just how many corpses were present. Hidden inside their clothing, I found a small electrical device of unknown design. I postulated that the machine was a modified form of Tanner's forceshield, some massively weaker version built to only protect the vampires from sunlight. A neat trick that, and one I had not even contemplated. Thank goodness, Mystery Man hadn't trusted his slaves enough to give them full power forceshields, or else Raul and I would be on our way to the dentist for a cleaning and sharpening.

  Meanwhile, the wizard mumbled in his secret language, and then used his staff to smight two of the football players who were the closest to our sizes. Every little bit helps. Rippling with colored lights, the cold flesh melted and reformed into mirror images of us, clothes, guns and everything. Then we tore accessories off a few cars and sprinkled the debris around the blast crater so it would seem a car had exploded instead of Mr. Raul. When satisfied, we hid in the relatively undamaged trunk of a Buick RoadMaster and waited.