John noticed first. Lee was busy telling a woman in her late-forties that she had to grab her purse and head for the road. The lady in question was trying to explain that her husband, Larry, had the car and wouldn’t be home until after sunset. Larry’d found work in Wayfield – which was a metropolis in comparison to Whittaker, thank you very much – and he couldn’t possibly come home any sooner than that if they were going to get back on their feet. Lee was annoyed by the woman, who was currently disproving his theories about the trashy people of Whittaker and their bad intentions. So he was maybe less than kind when he told her to start hoofing it.
And she was equally unkind when she told him where he could shove his hooves.
And that was when John tugged at Lee’s sleeve until Lee conceded there might be a reason for the boy to not actually be speaking.
Lee turned to tell John to stop pulling on his arm like a damned baby and shut his mouth when he saw the wave coming toward them.
The wave was mostly black, and a little gray, with a splash of brown. Considering the rain that was still falling all around them, he should have expected something, but what he expected, if anything, would have been a flood of waters coming from the slopes above the collection of trailers.
But the wave that came for them was furry. It roiled over the tires of cars and swelled, washing past the grills of parked vehicles, sliding over the connection lines for gas and electrical power to various trailers. He could see the little black eyes, the tiny teeth, the nasty little tails like snakes, but he didn’t have time to study them, because there were just too damned many of the things.
Lee had exactly enough time to realize that what he was looking at was a massive surge of rats before it was too late to do anything about them. Oh, he tried. He reached for his pistol and he fired and he, by God, hit one of the bastards, a massive thing with a body that was almost two feet long without the tail. The rat blew up in a very satisfying spray of meat and bone, and an instant later there was no proof that anything had been shot, because the moving carpet of rodents swept over their dead companion without any concern at all.
John Hayes might have been a rookie, but he had a great sense of self-preservation. He shoved the woman into her trailer and pushed past Lee, moving inside with her. “Come on you damned fool!”
Lee might have considered taking offense to having a snotnose call him a damned anything, but fear was making him very compliant. He practically dove through the open door and John slammed it behind him. He wasn’t as fast as he maybe would have liked as two of the rodents got caught in the jamb, and they screamed and screeched as their heads were crushed in the narrow space.
John was taking no chances. He pulled the door shut and looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon.
“What the hell is that? What the fuck?” The lady’s attitude perfectly matched Lee’s. Both of them were looking everywhere at once and trying to make sense of what they’d seen. They were not having much luck.
Lee reached for his radio where it was clipped to his shoulder. The sheriff preferred phone calls. Not today. This was too damned big, too damned much. Carl Price could kiss every square inch of his ass.
“This is Deputy Brumby! We need back up! We need back up! We’ve got—” What did they have? He searched for the right words as the rodents hit the sides of the trailer with what seemed like a thousand tiny little thumps. Surely it wasn’t that many. Surely his mind was exaggerating what he’d seen outside. “We’ve got a damned plague of rats!”
Dina Merriman responded from the station with, “Say what, Lee? A plague? Come back.”
“A goddamned plague! Send backup Dina!”
The lady of the trailer let loose with a scream that made the fillings in Lee’s teeth ache. She had that sort of voice. He was about to yell at her, but she pointed at the slatted glass windows of the trailer, and when Lee looked, he thought about screaming himself.
The windows were easily four feet from the trailer’s floor, which meant easily six feet off the actual ground. That didn’t stop the rats from pushing through the openings between the slats. The things were relentless, pushing in and falling to the ground as more came after them. Had there ever been that many rodents in the whole damned county? Surely not.
Lee tried firing again. He might have hit a rat. He might not have. Either way, he managed to blow out the window slats that had offered a modicum of protection from the surge.
The rats came in like water flooding through an open window. Unlike water they did not simply puddle at the base of the windowsill.
Instead they came for Lee and John and the screaming woman.
She did not scream alone.
Lee fired every bullet in his weapon before it was all said and done. At least one of those bullets hit the propane tank outside of the trailer. Ultimately that was probably a mercy. The explosion was much faster than the rats would have been.
* * *
Carl heard about the destruction second-hand. He had fired his weapon and hit a man. By county regulations he was supposed to be forced into desk duty pending an investigation.
Sure. That was a wonderful notion.
He and the county commissioners came to an understanding. He had to take the rest of the night off. His firearms had to be held. He accepted their decree, but as he was turning in his weapons he heard all about the attack on Whittaker.
That bastard, Fry, had lied to him. He said the attack would happen at night.
Maybe that was deliberate. Maybe it was a miscommunication. Either way, if he saw the man again, Fry was going down.
Eight deputies went into Whittaker. None of them came out. Suddenly going home wasn’t an option. Carl stayed at the office, ordering the forces available to him and helping to move things as smoothly as possible in the examination of what was left of Whittaker.
The people who tried to come into the town were not allowed back in. The deputies who examined the remains did so with HAZMAT suits in place until they ran out of suits.
There were human remains aplenty. There were ruined trailers galore. Several fires had destroyed a number of the trailers, and it would be days at the very least before the disaster was completely catalogued.
The GBI was called in, as was the National Guard, because the Sheriff ’s Department was already spread too thin to manage the situation.
More HAZMAT suits were brought in.
It was possible they would never completely understand what had happened in Whittaker, but Carl had heard the recording of Lee Brumby screaming about a plague of rats. Brumby had been a bit of an ass, but he’d been a good deputy in his own right and he was not known for exaggerating.
The skies were still dropping heavy rains. There was a good chance most of the physical evidence of a rat infestation would have been washed away.
Carl doubted that was a coincidence. What could vampires do?
He didn’t know.
But he needed to know.
And that meant he’d have to deal with Wade’s friend Decamp. That one was hiding things, but he seemed to be on the side of the angels and that was good enough for now.
Wade called him even as he was thinking about the situation. They had a lot to talk about. More than Carl wanted to think about.
Rats. A damned plague of rats. What else did Lazarus Cotton have waiting in the wings?
Carl shook his head and looked toward the evidence lockers. The one that had the best locks had more than drugs and other contraband stored in it.
One of them had an amazing collection of items confiscated from various busts. Sometimes it terrified him the things they found inside the houses they searched. But now and then, just when he least expected it, Carl saw something in that room that made him smile.
It was not a pretty smile that lit his face as he unlocked the weapons locker and pulled a few items, but it was
most decidedly a smile.
* * *
“Rats,” Decamp said, shaking his head. “He summoned an army of rats.”
“Vampires can do that?” Griffin said.
“Only the most powerful ones. They can control lower orders of animals. We’re lucky that wolves aren’t native to this area.”
Carl said, “So how do we fight someone like that, Decamp? Wade and I have to keep an appointment with that fucker tonight or he’s going to do the same thing all over the county. Hell, Wellman could be next.”
The three men were sitting in Decamp’s study. Mid-morning light filtered through the blinds, casting dark shadows on the floor. Griffin could see dust motes drifting in the shafts of light.
Decamp said, “I have some weapons for you, borrowed from a friend. They may seem a bit strange to you, but hear me out.” He brought out a long sword in a leather scabbard. “This one’s for you, Sheriff.”
“A sword?”
“An iron sword. Much better than the machete you were using.” Decamp drew the blade from its sheath. “You can stab them through the heart with this, or use it to cut off their heads. In addition, the blade has some, er... special properties that will allow you to damage the vampires anywhere you cut them.”
Carl said, “Don’t you have any long range weapons? Special bullets or something?”
“Sadly, no. There aren’t any bullets I’ve found to be effective against vampires.”
“So you’ve fought them before?”
“Oh yes.”
“What about crossbows?” said Griffin.
“I’ve heard of crossbows with iron tipped shafts, but a crossbow takes too long to reload and the vampires move too damn fast. Up close and personal is how they have to be dealt with. Which reminds me. I have an iron spike for each of you that you can use like a knife if you end up that close. Try not to. Remember how strong they are.”
“Do you have a sword for me?” Griffin asked.
“For you I have something special, since you’re the only man I know who’s big enough to wield it.” He lifted a wide leather case from the floor and placed it on his desk. Griffin noted the case was old and battered. Decamp opened it and drew out a big, double-bladed ax. The blades gleamed as if they had been recently polished.
Griffin whistled. “That’s beautiful. How old is it?”
“A few thousand years. It and the sword belong to a man named Kharrn.”
“Thousand? You’re kidding right? They didn’t have that kind of metallurgical knowledge that far back.”
“This comes from the time of the Moon-Eyes, Griffin.”
“Jesus.”
“Long before him as well. Neither of these weapons will rust, and so far they’ve proved indestructible. The ax has the same properties as the sword. Anywhere you cut the vampires, they’ll feel it and it will take their heads off as cleanly as my own sword.”
“Speaking of which,” Carl said. “Wade tells me you’re going with us tonight.”
“I’ll be there, but I’ll go there on my own. Best if Cotton thinks it’s just the two of you.”
“Makes sense,” Carl said.
Decamp said, “Charon is currently cooking up some spaghetti sauce from a special recipe I gave her. Plenty of garlic. The three of us will need to smear cloves of garlic on our exposed skin as well. Like I told Griffin earlier, it won’t kill them but it will bother the hell out of them. Could give you an edge in close quarters.”
“We’re going to be a smelly bunch,” said Carl.
“Indeed. My plan is to head up to Mooney’s Bluff in the afternoon and conceal myself. Hopefully I’ll be there before Cotton and his crew arrive. I’ll call you if I see anything that could help us. You two should probably arrive before dusk.”
Carl said, “I wonder why they chose the bluff? Do you think Cotton isn’t aware of the Blackbournes? That’s pretty damn close to Crawford’s Hollow.”
Decamp shrugged. “He may not be aware or he may not consider them a threat.”
“That would be a mistake. They took out one of his master vampires at the funeral,” said Carl. “They won’t like Cotton and his goons being in their territory.”
“Again, he may not know that. Keep in mind, though, he’s a sort of evil spirit, whether he realizes it or not. Lazarus Cotton isn’t any sort of expert in the supernatural. His religious beliefs would classify most of the supernatural as Satan spawned. He wouldn’t likely be well-versed in the actuality.”
Carl hefted the sword. “A magic sword. God damn.”
Decamp said, “I know it seems archaic, but trust me, it will get the job done.”
“I believe you. I may have a trick or two of my own to add, though.”
“Just ensure it isn’t based on any movies you may have seen,” said Decamp.
Griffin said, “I’m going out to your back yard and give this thing a few practice swings.” He brandished the ax. “Heavy. Certainly seems well balanced enough though.”
“Kharrn uses it one handed.”
“Jeez. Who is this guy?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you about him another day.”
Carl followed Griffin out behind Decamp’s house. They could smell the garlic-infused spaghetti cooking as they passed through. Outside the rain had finally stopped, but dark clouds still filled the sky. The air felt hot and sticky.
Griffin took a stance and gave the ax a slow swing. He made a turn and shifted his grip on the haft, rotating the ax for a backhanded cut. The weapon was indeed beautifully balanced.
Carl said, “Is there any hand weapon you don’t know how to use, Wade?”
“Nope. And don’t act like you didn’t fence in college.”
“That was a saber. This is what? A broadsword?”
“Technically speaking it’s a longsword.”
“Ah.” Carl made a couple of quick cuts through the air, then lunged as if he were stabbing an opponent. “I like it. Do you believe it’s actually as old as Decamp says?”
“Everything he’s told me has panned out so far. Amazing as it seems, I believe him.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He has his secrets, but he’ll stand up when things go south.”
“Kind of like you and me.”
“Yes. Like you and me.”
Carl shook his head and regarded the sword. “You ever think, back in Wellman High, that we’d be fighting vampires and extra-dimensional creatures?”
“Don’t think I even knew what extra-dimensional meant back then.”
“No, me neither.”
* * *
A few hours later, full of garlic-laced spaghetti, Griffin and Charon drove back to Wellman. Carl had his own errands to run but he told Griffin he would pick him up about five and they would head up to Mooney’s Bluff together.
Charon was quiet for much of the ride home, but finally she said, “I’m about to sound like the schoolmarm in High Noon again, Griffin, but I really wish you didn’t have to do this.”
“I wish I didn’t either,” Griffin said. “But we both know there’s no one else. Just like last time, we won’t be able to convince the authorities of the situation before it’s too late. Cotton didn’t give Carl and me much choice. If we don’t show up tonight, people could die.”
Charon smiled, though Griffin could see tears forming. “And you wondered if you were a good man.”
“None of this changes what I’ve done in the past.”
“No, but what you were, what you are, is what allows you to do this sort of thing. If you didn’t have the training you have, you and I would have died at the funeral. You held those creatures off until Decamp got there. And now, you’re going to go up against them again with a god damned ax.”
The tears came then and Griffin slowed the tr
uck and pulled over. He unhooked his safety belt and reached across and put his arms around her. “I walked away from the fight with the Moon-Eyes. I’ll come back from this too.”
Charon looked up, her dark eyes clouded with fear. “What if you don’t?”
“Then I want you to get out of town and go far away. Cotton knows who you are, but I don’t think he would spend much time looking for you if you were gone. Empty my safe and go.”
“That’s not what I meant, you idiot. How do I go on if you’re gone?”
“People go on, kiddo. You will too. But listen, I’m coming back okay? I am a seriously bad man and a bunch of blood-sucking holy rollers aren’t going to keep me from coming back to you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Good. Now let’s go home and you can smear garlic on my naked body.”
“Kinky.”
“And then some.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sometimes people make horrible, horrible mistakes.
Take for example Dillon Harris, a small-time loser with ambition. Dillon heard almost as soon as it happened that Pete Blankenship was out of the trafficking business. That little tidbit did not make the local news – the arrests at the lodge where many under-aged girls were being forced to work made it to the news, but Blankenship’s retirement did not – but that sort of information tends to get around all by itself.
Dillon heard it from a man he supplied with cocaine, who happened to be fond of girls who were too young and liked to struggle. Dillon did not consider himself a pervert, but he most decidedly considered himself an entrepreneur. To that end, he listened when the man went on and on about how miserable his life was going to be if he had to go all the way to Atlanta to satisfy his needs, and Dillon got an idea.
For the right money, he could probably supply what his client wanted. He was a dealer, after all. Why not simply expand what he offered?
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