The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two)

by Leo Romero

  Saved your ass! She then realized.

  He'd finally called the favor in. At least one of them.

  But, even though she'd managed to get away, she was still in danger. The whole building was now alerted to her escape. All hundred floors of it. She watched the red numbers on the panel above the door as they counted backward. 98, 97, 96, 95--

  What floor was Dad on? Who knew?

  She glanced down at the panel next to the door to see floor 33 lit up amongst the others she'd slammed. It was the first floor the elevator would open at. A third of the way up. It was most likely an express elevator that stopped at all floors, which meant she could decide what part of the building to escape to. She figured that if she got out at a floor halfway down, she could work on finding Dad easier while being enough of a distance away from the thugs at the roof level. It would also give her enough time to formulate a strategy. She put out a finger and depressed the 50 button. It blinked on. Then blinked off. She frowned in confusion.

  All the previously lit buttons on the panel then blinked off. Her eyes widened. What's going on?

  The G at the very bottom of the panel then lit up. G? Ground? I'm being sent to the ground floor!

  A voice then began speaking to her from somewhere, making her head snap upward. "Give yourself up and we'll go easy on you," it echoed around the tiny metal chamber.

  "Yeah, like I'm gonna fall for that!" she replied, unaware if the owner of the voice could hear her or not.

  "We can all be friends!"

  "Pff!" Trixie began pushing buttons on the panel in a crazy manner. Nothing would light up. She hit the emergency stop. Nothing happened. They'd taken control of the elevator and wanted her on the ground floor. Most likely where a greeting party of vamps and mercs was waiting for her.

  She looked up and around. She was ensconced, trapped, encased within a metal box.

  And it began speeding up.

  She watched the panel above the door in horror. 55 became 54 in an instant. 54, 53 before she could even blink. She was hurtling toward her fate. She had to do something, quick. She looked up, down, all around, her mind going at a rate of knots, her timescale and options strictly limited. The panel read 34, 33, then 32 in a nanosecond.

  Come on, Trixie, come on! Do something! DO SOMETHING NOW!

  The panel read 24, 23, 22, 21--

  She swiped the sweat from her brow and sucked in a huge breath. Her chest heaved, her stomach churned.

  15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10--

  The final descent. She literally had seconds to respond.

  "Let's be friends, Trixie. Let's be friends," the voice rang out, adding to the madness. "Let's be frieeeends, till the eeend," it sang, making her skin crawl like lice.

  She took a final glance at the panel. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1--

  And then the elevator came to a grinding halt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Dom caught another boot to the face. That one smarted the most. He groaned out loud. "Okay, I give up," he declared soon after, finding himself pinned to the floor by more thugs than he could count, his arms wrenched behind his back.

  "Damn right you give up, you piece of crap!" one of them snarled.

  "Hey, what happened to 'Rhino Peacock'?" Dom asked with a pained grin.

  Sammy then came over, rubbing his chin. He stopped ahead of Dom, glaring down at him, his eyes whirling with ire.

  "Hi," Dom said up to him, squeezing out the word between his clenched teeth.

  Sammy swung a foot back and sent a brutal kick into Dom's ribs.

  Dom groaned under the impact. "Thanks, buddy."

  "That's for punching me, asshole!" Sammy spat. He then reached down and dragged Dom up off the floor. He gripped his khaki tee with both hands as he pulled him in toward him, their faces inches apart. Sammy's rancid death-breath was hot in Dom's face.

  "This is the second time you've gatecrashed my party," Sammy stated.

  "You call this a party? Where are the chicks?"

  Sammy nodded. "Oh yeah, it's a party, all right, Dom. A reunion. And the party's only just begun." He flung Dom back; he fell straight into the arms of a thug. "Take him to the boss!"

  Dom tilted his head upward to be met with the hardened stare of the muscle-bound merc gripping him. "How's it going?" Dom asked him with a toothy grin. The merc's response was to haul him up onto his feet and begin patting him down. He snatched the dart guns from Dom's belt before another came and slapped cuffs on him. Dom winced under the strain. He was then shoved away amongst the throng of mercs, their latest prisoner.

  Up ahead, one of them curled his finger inward, indicating for Dom to follow. Dom gulped. He knew he was screwed. He had no choice but to go wherever they led him. He snatched a deep breath, the dull aches of the blows he just withstood still haunting him.

  He then began making the walk. As he went, he thought of Trixie; she managed to get away. Cleanly? Who knew? Maybe he'd saved her like he always said he would. He hoped so. He closed his eyes and prayed. Come on, Trixie. Don't let these suckers beat you. Just stay alive. Stay. Alive.

  The elevator reached the ground floor just as they all took their positions. They'd already shut off all escape routes; they had her penned in like a snared rabbit. They had a guy stationed on each side of the express elevator, plus two lines of four ready and waiting a couple of meters beyond that. There was no way in hell she could get past them all.

  "Remember: don't kill her, just immobilize her," came the order from General Nixon. The two guys holding the sides of the elevator nodded their heads affirmative and leaned in, their knees slightly bent.

  Nixon held up three fingers. They soon became two. The guard operating the elevator from the control panel at reception watched him with studious eyes. Nixon then had one finger raised. And then his hand became a fist. The guard took his cue; he pushed the necessary button. The elevator pinged, and then the doors began to slide open.

  Nixon watched on with eager eyes. He wanted to catch this bullfrog nice and quick. He ran a swift hand through his short silver hair.

  The doors came open far enough for the nearest two guys to dive in. They stormed into the elevator but ran straight into a thick wall of noxious smoke. It streamed out of the open elevator like intense ground fog, billowing up like smoke from an open fire. From inside the smoke, the two guys began coughing and choking.

  Nixon's chest tightened. "Pull back! Pull back!" he shrieked, the veins on his thick neck bulging.

  A loud slap thundered from within the smoke, swiftly followed by a thug staggering backward out of the elevator. Once clear of the smoke, he slammed down onto his back. Another couple of slaps and kicks and the other joined him on the floor.

  The smoke then began to head the way of the other lines of thugs.

  "Pull out!" Nixon roared.

  His men backed off, scared of the smoke like it was a plague.

  A small tinkling then began to play over the chaos, stopping them all in their tracks. A metal device was rolling from the elevator across the marble floor toward them. It was spewing more smoke like a sprinkler watering the lawn. The thugs scattered in all directions, the elevator suddenly not a concern. Loud coughs and spurts erupted all over the now smoke-filled lobby.

  Nixon's face twitched in anger. The bullfrog had played them like boy scouts. He scrutinized the elevator like a hawk.

  Then, from out of the elevator streamed the rabbit. Through the haze, Nixon caught a glimpse of her; there was a mask strapped to her face, a gun in her hand. She began letting off shots, swift phut sounds playing out like a staccato amongst the choking. A couple of guys went down.

  Rage consumed Nixon like an inferno. Screw the rules; this bullfrog's going down!

  He covered his nose and watering eyes with his forearm and raised his Glock. She was moving fast, heading toward the stairs over to the left, downing anyone who was getting in her way. The white vapor was making it difficult to get a good aim, especially with bodies falling left and right. He squinted his
eyes and steadied his gun on the forearm protecting his face, waiting for just the right moment.

  She finally turned her back as she reached the staircase. And now he caught her in his sights. "Gotcha!" he said before he pulled the trigger.

  Trixie darted across the marbled floor as fast as she could, her eyes shooting left and right, seeking out exits. She'd managed to drop the first two who were stupid enough to walk into a cloud of noxious gas, but the lobby was full of them. She didn't stop for introductions, it was all about escaping to a safe spot then work it all out from there.

  She laid eyes on a set of stairs leading up to the first floor; she made a beeline straight for them. A couple of thugs were in her way, bent over and coughing under the gas. She threw up her dart gun and shot them both up with tranq. They went down, clearing the way; she continued her dash for the stairs while the thugs behind her were suffering. In no time, she made it, jumping up onto them. Just as her foot touched the first step, a gunshot split the hollow atmosphere in two. A hot pain rocketed up her arm from her hand, which had snapped forward under the pressure. She threw her hand upward and gave it a stupefied stare, the movement almost causing her to trip up the stairs. Her jaw dropped in horror. The top section of her pinky was missing, blown clean off by the bullet. She snapped her head around; her eyes zoned in on the thug who'd shot her. A silver-haired brute. He was aiming his gun at her through the smoke and chaos. And he was about to take another shot. She instinctively ducked. Another shot went off. It hit the steps above her. Her eyes flicked upward to lock onto the smoking hole where her head should have been. Oh my--

  Her instincts tweaked. Get outta there, Trixie!

  She propelled herself forward, pouncing up the steps two, three at a time, her heart jammed in her throat. The top of the stairs came into view. Once up there, she'd be out of sight. She didn't dare look behind her again, it would only slow her down just enough for that asshole to get another shot in.

  With just a few more steps to go, her heart skipped a beat as another shot split the air. She screamed, her mind having a fit. Her head spun in semi-circles, wondering where the bullet hit. No pain was registering in her mind, telling her it must have missed its target. Next time it won't.

  She sped up, her feet finally reaching the first-floor landing. A tiny bit of relief suffused her, but she wasn't in the clear yet. She raced off to the right without even looking first. The writing on a glass exterior ahead read Sunrise Restaurant. Sunrise Restaurant? Was that like some kind of joke?

  Right then, that wasn't important; escaping was. Below her, voices were shouting from the lobby. They were still stuck there and so it was her opportunity to leave them behind. She knew she had to find a stairwell and begin her ascent up the building in search of Dad and Dom. She had a quick look around the shiny, polished floor. There was a boutique, a clothes shop, hairdressers. During the daytime, this place was a thriving hub of commerce, the daily visitors blissfully unaware of the dark secrets held within its confines. Beyond it all, she spotted a sign above another door reading 'STAIRS'. Since the elevator was out of commission, that was her only means of escape. She had to go up, and the only way up was manual.

  She took a glance through the glass-paneled floor barrier. Through it, she could see the far end of the lobby where the mercs had scattered away from the smoke. Some were pointing up at her, others on their radios. The smoke was starting to rise up into the high ceiling of the lobby. Once the coast was clear, they'd come after her. And they had the advantage of the elevator. She needed to get far ahead of them. Fast. She focused back on the door to the stairwell, pumping her arms and legs as hard as they'd go. She sprinted across the polished floor like a greyhound, her boots squeaking like scared mice. She could hear their boots down below stomping along the floor. They were on the chase. She put her head down and steamed toward the door. On reaching it, she threw it open and dived into the stairwell beyond. She hurdled up the steps, her boots clacking on the surface tiles, the sound reverberating around the stairwell and in her mind. She cleared the first flight in no time, racing past a big red 2 painted on the wall next to her. She didn't hesitate in mounting the next flight toward the 3 on the wall above her. She made it up to the fourth floor and her legs began to tingle with tiredness. The thought of potentially racing up another ninety flights seemed like too much of an ordeal. Eventually, she'd have to take a break, slow down at least.

  But could Dad and Dom afford her to?

  Just keep going, girl, she told herself. Keep going till you drop!

  She ripped off her gas mask and jumped up the next flight, feeling like a sprinter racing for gold. The medal at the end of this particular race was Dad and Dom. And that thought drove her. She made it up to the fifth, her breathing hot and sharp. She made it halfway across the landing when the door leading out to the fifth burst open, knocking her off her stride. She yelped; three armed mercs dived out into the stairwell. She threw up an instinctive hand and fired off a couple of tranqs. The merc out in front caught them both and went down. The next thug barged into her, throwing her across the landing; she hit the banister, taking a painful blow to the kidneys. Her breath bolted from her chest; she knew she couldn't afford to remain static or they'd take her down.

  Ignoring the discomfort, she forced herself to spin away and hit the steps once more, her lower back and chest aching in equal measure. Behind her, a gun clicked, a spray of bullets swiftly following. She ducked, her eyes whirling. She caught a glimpse of a line of bullet holes in the ceiling far away. Warning shots. They didn't want her dead.

  "Stop!" a merc grunted, but she was in no mood to follow orders. She lunged up to floor six where she decided to throw the stairwell door open and try to shake them off. The echo chamber of the stairwell thickened to dark office space. She took a quick look around, gasping for breath, her body a prism of pain. Ahead of her sat a gloomy reception area. She scampered past it and into the office area itself. Now, in the dark, she had to feel her way along, not wanting to trip over a chair or desk. She bent down low and melted into the shadows, scampering along like a professional thief. She delved deep into the office where she found a corner to tuck herself away, just as the door behind her flew open. She pressed herself up against the cubicle wall and held her breath, her eyes wide and hot. The overhead lights flicked on. Then a voice, "Come out, come out, wherever you are," sang in a phony pleasant tone.

  She peeked around the corner to see them advancing into the office, strafing left and right.

  "We don't want to hurt you," that nasty voice said. "We're your friends."

  Any second and they'd find her. She looked around. The cubicle she found herself in was scant. A desk, a filing cabinet, and not much else. She glanced up. The ceiling was a grid of square panels. One of them was missing, exposing some red and blue wires above; but more importantly, a hiding place. She had a quick peek on her friends once more. Their backs were turned. She seized the opportunity. Nimble as a cat, she leaped onto the desk, sucked in a deep breath, bent her knees just enough, and propelled herself up toward the ceiling. She grabbed onto the metal grid edging the missing panel and hauled herself up into the space above, pulling her body up and along at the same time, her dangling legs disappearing into the empty slot like eels vanishing into a pipe. The world around her turned hot and tight. She shifted around ninety-degrees, pushing past electrical wires, hoping to God none of them were exposed. It felt like diving into a pit of snakes, a single bite and it was curtains. Inch-by-inch, she could see back out of the missing panel. She stopped and spread herself across the metal grid, allowing it to take her weight evenly, wiring touching every part of her body. The heat trapped between the ceiling and the floor of the above level was building up by the second. It was uncomfortable, but she endured.

  Now I know what a TV dinner feels like, she thought to herself without much humor.

  With her breath drawn, she waited, her eyes wide and alert. Below her, the mercs continued to talk.

  "Com
e on, we won't hurt you," she heard one say, just as he spun around the corner, aiming his gun at the very spot she'd been squatting in literally seconds before. She moved her arm forward, poking the gun out of the gap of the missing panel. She had his back in her sights. A good shot and he was down.

  He then moved from her view and joined his colleague, taking her free shot with him. "She ain't here," he concluded.

  "She must be here. Where did she go? Vanish into thin air?"

  "Maybe..."

  "Tell Nixon we saw her on the fifth but lost her."

  "You tell him."

  "What, you scared?"

  "No."

  "Then tell him, bitch."

  "Aight then." He got on the radio. "Husky Flamingo, come in. Husky Flamingo, copy."

  A brief spout of static broke out. Then, "Husky Flamingo here. Report."

  "Uh, we found the uh, bullfrog."

  "Good work. We'll be up to get her, what floor you on?"

  "Uh... thing is, boss. We, uh... lost her."

  There was a small pause. Then, "YOU FRICKIN' DOPEY ASS FAGGOTS! HOW CAN YOU LOSE A FREAKING BULLFROG? YOU BUNCH A PUSSIFIED CRAP MONKEYS AIN'T GOOD FOR NUTHIN BUT SHOVELING THE SHIT FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY SHITSTAINED UNDERPANTS!"

  "Thanks, boss."

  "You find her! And you bring her to me, shit-for-brains! You got it?"

  "Yes, boss."

  "Think you can handle that, Nancy?"

  "Yes, boss."

  "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, sir Husky Flamingo, sir! Yes!"

  "That's better. Freaking bunch a pussies. Christ." The radio then went dead.

  The thug puffed his cheeks. "Well, that went well."

  "We better find her before he does."

  "Damn straight."

  "You wait here in case she turns up. I'll go check the next level."

  "Aight."

  Trixie watched one of the thugs leave the cubicle. There had been three, she'd already downed one back in the stairwell, and with the other leaving, she was now alone with just one, and he had no idea she was right above him. He was vulnerable, like a newborn kitten. She waited for a minute or two to give the other one enough time to leave the floor; she didn't want her and her new friend to be disturbed.