Buffy the Vampire Slayer 1

by John Vorholt;Arthur Byron Cover;Alice Henderson

  “Yeah, sorry, Buffy, but I’ve been in every techno-pagan discussion forum I can think of, and no one has any info remotely helpful.”

  “Figures, there’s never a good voodoo priestess around when you need one. How’s Giles?”

  “Sick as a dog. He’s got an ice pack on his head and his feet in a bucket of ice, but his temperature is bad. I may have to call an ambulance!”

  “Any word from Xander?”

  “He hasn’t come back. I bet he finds you first.”

  “Right. I’ll check in as soon as the fun’s over. Ciao!”

  Suddenly someone opened both the swinging front doors smack into her.

  I’ve gotta work on this in-and-out thing, she thought, then stopped cold.

  Xander.

  But that was just her first impression. A closer look, focusing on his posture, revealed that Sarah had asserted herself and was definitely in control of Xander’s body. Unused to walking in the body of a man, “she” stood and walked stiffly, very unlike Xander’s normal gait, as if he had become a female mannequin.

  Luckily, Xander/Sarah did not recognize Buffy. The seventeenth-century witch might have known her as a participant in the séance, but the waitress outfit was an effective distraction.

  But while Xander, to whatever degree he might have been self-aware, was no doubt concerned about Buffy’s safety, Sarah clearly had other people on her mind. He/she strode purposefully down the steak house, weaving among the crowded tables.

  Xander/Sarah stopped at the furthermost booth. She said something in an agitated manner, gesturing with an air suggesting that it had taken a lot of nerve.

  The something must have been shocking, judging from how everyone in the immediate vicinity grew quiet and looked at Xander/Sarah as if he was a crazy person.

  Buffy recognized that things were clearly coming to a head. Xander/Sarah backed up; the moment of determination and will had given way to doubt and fear.

  Some guy stood and turned, frowning at Xander/Sarah with arms folded across his chest with the contempt only those who are utterly evil can bring to bear. The body belonged to Rick Church, but the stooped shoulders revealed the true personality to be that of elderly Judge Danforth.

  “Pray to your betters, Sarah Dinsdale!” Danforth said in a booming voice. “Bow before us. Perhaps you’ll give us reason to show mercy.”

  “Sarah? Who’s Sarah?” asked some of the customers aloud to friends or those close by, and most everyone chuckled or giggled as they eyed Xander.

  Only Xander/Sarah cowered before this man. The crowd might be amused but she was the only one who knew the truth: This man was about to call up the forces of darkness.

  At the moment, Buffy was more afraid of the crowd. So far she’d tried to avoid doing her Slayer stuff before strangers, especially a hundred and fifty of them. This place undoubtedly had security cameras. That meant she’d really be doing her thing before the entirety of civilization as she knew it today.

  People forget, Giles had once said. Cameras remember. Forever.

  Meanwhile, Rick/Danforth became angry at the crowd. He seethed with anger barely contained, his emotions struggling with a strong disbelief factor. After all, he wasn’t used to having the common rabble treat him with such disrespectful familiarity.

  “You people are doomed,” he said. “It awes me to see such ignorant buffoons embrace their destruction so enthusiastically. So be it.”

  He snapped his fingers. He waited.

  Three other people rose out of the booth. On the surface they were Lora Church, Eric Frank, and Darryl MacGovern.

  Almost. They didn’t act like Lora, Eric, and Darryl. MacGovern/Mather held forth the Vivaldi Moonman in one hand like a club, just in case Buffy doubted he had possession of it. Lora’s posture, meanwhile, had changed from that of a woman to that of an awkward adolescent, like Heather. And Frank’s obnoxious demeanor had changed into the stern malevolence of Sheriff Corwin.

  And once again they had Sarah in captivity. Her talents would augment and complete their circle of power.

  Buffy realized she never would have known this if it hadn’t been for the dreams. The patrons had no reason to suspect the four standing were anything other than they appeared to be, two well-dressed yuppies along with two reporters with bad fashion instincts. And a guy named Sarah. The patrons had no idea what they were dealing with.

  This is it, Buffy realized. All the pieces are in place. Our rerun is imminent.

  Rick/Danforth’s fingers snapped and produced the tiniest flash of light, so tiny Buffy was certain she was one of the few who caught it.

  Buffy realized she couldn’t wait any longer. She had to do something.

  And then the zombies hit.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The zombies were hard to miss. They came crashing through the front windows. A line of zombies marched double-time through the entrance, while another line came charging from the men’s room and a third came from the ladies’. They’d evidently come in through the bathroom windows.

  The first thing Buffy noticed about this army of the undead was that it was well-armed with the latest in assault weaponry.

  Most of the zombies were derived from the corpses of old men, though quite a few had been young men, and a good number of corpses from both categories had been maimed before the ravages of decay had set in.

  Buffy remembered there was a Veterans of Foreign Wars cemetery in Sunnydale. They must have hit an armory on the way over.

  Needless to say, the crowd’s reaction was immediate. People screamed and tried to scramble away, but a few of the zombies fired in the air. Lights burst and debris fell from the ceiling while the people screamed again and dropped to the floor—the way they’d seen innocent bystanders do in movies whenever there was gunfire in a crowded situation.

  Only Edith, Buffy, and the possessed people were left standing; Xander/Sarah was still cowering.

  Edith had realized she was one of the few still standing, and she’d also recognized that Buffy stood her ground like someone who knew how to handle herself whenever she was surrounded by massive armies of the undead. Though how she recognized that, Edith wasn’t sure. She was sure, however, that she’d quit smoking the minute she got out of this alive.

  Buffy pointed to the floor. Edith nodded, got down, and crawled out of the immediate vicinity while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  “What’s next, people?” Buffy asked. “Turkey dinner?”

  “I do not understand,” said Lora/Heather. “Was that supposed to be humorous, child?”

  Buffy bristled. She had her hands in fists and she made tiny steps back and forth, very indecisively. She would have had no problem doing something about the zombies—she might have even charged right in at the possessed people—but the presence of so many innocent bystanders was unprecedented in her experience.

  I’m a Slayer, not a cop! she thought. “All right, Danforth—Rick Church—or whoever you are. You have what you want. All four of you. You have Sarah and me right where you want us. Why don’t you send these zombies back where they came from?”

  “Oh, my dear, I am afraid we need them,” said Danforth unctuously. “In order to guard all these hostages. And I am afraid we need these hostages as well, to keep you towing the straight and narrow.”

  “We cannot afford unpredictable events during the ceremony,” said MacGovern/Mather.

  “Thanks for telling her, you imbecile!” hissed Frank/Corwin.

  “Excuse me. I am a judge,” said Rick/Danforth.

  “Excuse you,” said Buffy. “You’re a man who doesn’t know he’s dead.”

  “What do you know about death?” snorted Lora/Heather.

  “Been there, bought the T-shirt.” Buffy gestured at the people. “Any one of these people might do something you hadn’t planned on and screw everything up until the next time the stars or whatever are right for you to try again. So you’ll have to wait—what? Another three hundred years? Deal with the wait.�
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  “She is right,” said Rick/Danforth.

  “I agree,” said MacGovern/Mather.

  “Kill them all,” said Lora/Heather to the zombies.

  Buffy tensed; the time had come to do or die. She just wished things had gone a little better before she died.

  “No!” said Xander/Sarah. “You must wait!”

  “Why is that?” sneered Frank/Corwin.

  “I cannot speak for whoever has brought us here now,” said Xander/Sarah, “but the Despised One would not have appreciated the fact that you arranged for his first feast, then slew everyone before he had the opportunity to make the first bite. I can imagine how the current Master gets when his appetites are not sated. You must not kill them. You must allow them to wait outside, unharmed.”

  “I get it,” said Heather. “When the Master rises, he will know what to do with them.”

  Which is not going to happen, Buffy added to herself. Then: The Master, eh? What a surprise. His decayed hand is all over this.

  The four looked at one another. Buffy kept one eye on the zombie army, another on the hostages, and a third on the Freakin’ Four. Were they silently communicating with one another?

  Finally they turned to face Buffy and their captives. “I have made my decision,” said Rick/Danforth.

  “No!” said Lora/Heather. “We have come to our decision. Here we are all equals.”

  “I fear you have spent too long in the New World,” said Rick/Danforth sadly. “It has affected your mind.”

  “Death has a way of doing that,” said Buffy.

  “In any case,” said Frank/Corwin, “the end result is the same. Buffy—or should I say, Kane?—we will let these people leave the premises only on one condition: that you surrender yourself immediately.” He held a rope out to a zombie, who lowered its assault weapon, took the rope, and walked toward Buffy.

  “Mind you, we did not say we would set the people free,” said MacGovern/Mather. “The zombies will still guard them, and a few will remain behind to guard us.”

  Reduction of odds. A good thing, Buffy decided. She was fairly positive no one noticed her bumping against a table as the zombie approached.

  Other zombies, making weird growling noises that sent Billy Bob’s customers down a spiral of terror, gestured with their weapons indicating the course the good citizens should take. Naturally the good citizens took it, some practically falling all over one another in their attempts to get out.

  They all marched past Buffy while her hands were being tied behind her back. Everyone, whether they be fearful, stoic, altruistic, or among the injured, looked her in the eye. The zombies escorting them out did not encourage communication, but Edith was brave enough to muster a “Thanks, I won’t forget this.”

  “You probably will,” Buffy replied.

  “Bet you a steak dinner I don’t,” said Edith.

  “You’re on,” said Buffy.

  “Silence!” said Rick/Danforth. “You, my young Slayer, are in no position to do anything.”

  “In fact,” said Lora/Heather in conspiratorial tones, “we could ensure you won’t be around to commit your treachery a second time by taking advantage of whatever instruments of torture the kitchen may provide.”

  “Slay them!” said Xander/Sarah desperately, turning to Buffy. “Why don’t you slay them?”

  “My hands are tied,” replied Buffy. “And I try—whenever possible—not to kill my friends’ bodies.”

  “You’re not like Samantha Kane!” Sarah exclaimed.

  “I’ll take ‘Duh’ for two hundred,” said Buffy dryly.

  “I think the Master would rather devour this Slayer personally,” advised Frank/Corwin. “I believe they have a history.”

  “So do we,” said MacGovern/Mather, “in our fashion. Come here.”

  That order was directed at Buffy, but she did not respond until the zombie behind her pushed her with its rifle. “Keep your head on. I’m moving,” said Buffy testily.

  “And just how would you slay us, young Slayer, in the unlikely event you ever have a chance?” inquired Rick/Danforth as he walked around his prisoner, inspecting her.

  “I would drive a stake through your heart.” She could not help glancing at Xander/Sarah, who, though still cowering, had managed to slink to a chair.

  “That wouldn’t work on us,” said Frank/Corwin with a laugh. “We’re already dead.”

  “It would work on Eric Frank, though,” pointed out MacGovern/Mather. “And that would seriously delay us.”

  Xander/Sarah nodded, as if she understood something. Buffy immediately got a bad feeling. While Buffy was reluctant to slay the living bodies of innocent people in order to thwart the heinous spirits of the dead, Sarah Dinsdale operated under no such personal restriction.

  “Time for the ceremony,” said Rick/Danforth.

  “I think we need to fix the decor first,” suggested Lora/Heather as she hefted a table over the bar.

  “You got that right, woman! We need some ceremony room!” said Frank/Corwin as he kicked the table Sarah was sitting at with great gusto. The table smashed into other tables, sending them in different directions.

  One of the remaining zombies happened to be in the way of a flying chair. The chair crashed into the zombie’s putrid leg, which buckled and bent the wrong way, throwing the zombie off balance.

  No one seemed to notice, not even the zombie.

  “I need some more ceremony room!” Corwin shouted in delight. “Some ceremony room for the enlightened!” And he threw another table into the counter.

  Xander/Sarah yelped as if bitten, then withdrew into herself as the four other possessed bodies commenced to tear up everything still standing in the steak house. Buffy couldn’t blame her. This type of violence was so much more irrational than the kind found in the fight of good against evil.

  The others threw themselves into the wanton destruction by ripping down those few things that had been left standing—jukebox, pinball machine, serving cart. And when everything was on the floor, the four of them worked together and threw everything up again. Maybe just to see how it fell into place.

  “This is not enough ceremony room!” exclaimed Corwin in frustration.

  Then they threw the stuff in the air again. Within a few moments Buffy realized there was some method to their madness. They were piling the debris with a definite pattern Buffy had seen before—in her dreams.

  When she took into account the mess they were also making in the kitchen at the same time, she realized the piles were pale, smaller imitations of the stone slabs which had formed the boundaries the last time the ceremony had occurred.

  “Hey, guys,” said Buffy, “if the site in New England was a Pilgrim’s Stonehenge, then is this a redneck Stonehenge?”

  The possessed ones ignored her. Windows broke and the hokey sawdust that “flavored” the floor of Billy Bob’s was stirred up. The rain began falling inside the steak house.

  “Now is it time for the ceremony?” demanded Frank/Corwin.

  “It is time,” said Rick/Danforth. He walked into the kitchen. Or what was left of it.

  The others followed, as did Xander/Sarah, meekly, and Buffy—but only because Frank/Corwin was pushing her.

  They gathered around the grill. MacGovern/Mather carefully placed V.V. Vivaldi’s Moonman sculpture on it, and the rock sizzled at once, filling the immediate vicinity with a terrible black smoke.

  The four possessed ones chanted and danced. The moonrock glowed red-hot like a coal, only it remained whole; it did not, perhaps could not, burn. Even the heat generated by the grill was not enough to melt it.

  “This is it,” said Xander/Sarah. “He is coming! The Master is coming!”

  Buffy thought she’d seen everything by now, but she’d never seen a mystical rupture in the space-time continuum before, where the boundaries between here and there vanished.

  An altogether different kind of heat and smoke began to fill the room. The smoke curled out through the huge hole
in the ceiling, while within a matter of moments the heat became suffocating.

  “I’d forgotten what it was like to be human,” said Rick/Danforth, trying to catch his breath.

  “Quiet!” said Frank/Corwin. “The Master is coming!”

  Indeed. A white hand whose skin combined the worst features of worms and reptiles rose up from the nothingness, followed by an arm wearing the sleeve of a dapper black jacket.

  “How trendy,” said Buffy. “Pale skin.”

  “Silence, insipid knave!” said Rick/Danforth.

  “Have you no respect for your betters?” asked the Master. His head and torso had emerged. Both his hands were on the hot grill, no worse for the wear. He looked about wearing an expression of ecstasy. “I see you fixed the place up for me. How thoughtful.”

  “Would you care for a snack?” asked Rick/Danforth. “We thought you’d like to start with these two.”

  The Master looked at Buffy with a toothy grin. Buffy grinned back. He was the key to this whole nightmare.

  At last the time to act had arrived. In the next few seconds she would know if she would live or die. One thing is for certain, she resolved. Regardless of my fate, the Master will die. Again and again. Now I just need a distraction….

  Buffy caught an unexpected movement from the corner of her eye. She turned to see Xander/Sarah holding an object while he/she rushed toward the Master with murderous intentions. “No!” Buffy exclaimed. “Use a stake! Not a steak!”

  Sarah stopped in front of the grill and struck the Master several times on the chest and shoulders with the piece of meat.

  The Master, halted in his emergence by this pesky human, took the steak from Sarah and held it gingerly between both fingers; he was clearly disgusted. “Do you realize how many nutrients were lost when they ruined this meat by cooking it?”

  “Really? Looks a little rare to me!” said Buffy. Her hands were free—she had cut her bonds with the knife she had palmed earlier, when she’d bumped, seemingly accidentally, into a table. “Let’s cut it.”

  She hurled the knife.