by Leo Romero
A sudden voice then rang out from somewhere. "Anyone there?" it asked.
Everyone in the room stopped and looked around.
"If there's anyone there, can you answer? It's Trixie."
Vincent's eyes lit up.
Sammy stomped over to a nearby desk. He grabbed the radio and answered the call. "Where are you?"
"I'm around," she told him.
"You gonna give us what we want?"
"Are my dad and Dom okay?"
"That's not what I asked."
"I need to know they're okay first!"
Sammy huffed. He turned to face Leviah, who gave him an eager nod and pointed toward their two captives. Sammy turned the radio their way. "Say hello, boys."
"Trixie!" Vincent said out loud.
"Hi, Daddy."
"It's so good to hear your voice," he said, his own voice getting croaky.
"It's good to hear yours too. Is Dom okay?"
"I'm fine, Trixie," Dom said out loud.
Sammy then returned the radio up to his own mouth. "You happy that they're safe and sound?"
"I'll only be happy when all three of us are out of this craphole and back home."
"Well, if you want that to happen, you know what to do."
Trixie sighed. "Tell me what floor you're on and I'll come up and hand the relic over."
Sammy hesitated. He turned toward Leviah. Leviah gave him a studious stare. After a few seconds, he nodded.
"The ninety-seventh," Sammy told her.
"Good. I'll be right up."
"Okay."
The radio went dead. Sammy whirled around to face Leviah. "I don't trust her. She plays tricks. Like what she did in the lobby."
Leviah shrugged. "Maybe she's finally come to her senses. She's grown tired and realized the only way out is to give us what we want."
"I still don't trust her."
"Really, what can she do? You're armed; she's alone. Get ready for her, if she tries anything, take her down. Simple."
Sammy gave him an unsure nod before retrieving his gun and pulling back the slide. He got on his radio. "Clear the express elevators," he ordered. "Put the code in to allow for the ninety-seventh. She's coming up."
"Got it."
Sammy lowered his radio and tightened his grip on his gun. He gave Leviah a nod of his head. "Get over to the elevator," he ordered the other mercs still in the room. All of them marched over to the elevator and huddled around it, their guns pointed its way.
"Get ready for this bitch," Sammy said. "She's tricky."
The panel on the elevator began counting up from twenty-nine.
Twenty-nine? Sammy thought to himself with mild concern. Meatpack Food Solutions?
The number on the panel turned 30, then 40, obliterating that thought. He needed to be focused. This bitch could be trying anything. They needed to be on their game. He eyed the others; they were acting cautious, their guns pointing right at the elevator doors. The panel read 50. Then 60. Sammy gulped. His radio then went off. "Boss," came the voice.
Sammy threw the radio up to his lips. "Not now!" he growled and slammed it back down by his side once more. He licked his lips, his eyes wide and focused on the elevator.
The panel read 70.
By then, Leviah had risen from his recliner and joined them; he stood at the back of the small throng, hands on hips.
80. Sammy steeled himself; he closed one eye and aimed his gun at the doors.
90.
"Get ready!" he said.
95. 96. 97--
The elevator pinged.
"Brace yourselves!"
The doors then slid open.
Sammy's eyes widened. Nixon's bulky frame spilled out of the elevator, his hands slapping on the wooden floor beyond like dead fish. Sammy jumped back, his gun aimed at Nixon's head. "Whu--" he blurted in shock.
Nixon murmured something before he droned into a chorus of loud snoring. The elevator doors then closed, hit Nixon in his torso, then opened again.
Sammy stared in confusion at Nixon's unconscious body before he scanned the elevator beyond. It was empty. He gulped, then turned and rolled sheepish eyes up toward Leviah. Leviah glowered down at him.
Sammy shrugged. "Sorry, boss."
Leviah's look of thunder melted into a huge grin. Laughter then erupted from his chest. He slapped his thigh and pointed at Nixon. "Look at him!" Leviah said between fits of hearty laughter.
Nixon just lay there snoring, the elevator doors opening and closing on him.
Sammy joined in the laughter, even though he was full of fear. "Yeah, look at that chump."
Leviah let out a final emphatic laugh. "You know, I'm actually beginning to like your daughter, Slayer," he said out loud over his shoulder, his stare still fixed on Nixon. "She's got a sense of humor I like. On second thoughts, maybe I shouldn't kill her. Maybe instead I should recruit her." He nodded. "Yes, she'd make a fine addition to the Order. She has a certain... je ne sais quoi, a refinement, a strong sense of survival." He turned away from Nixon, giving him a final look of disgust and headed back toward his recliner, Sammy following up.
"She has more heart than you could ever imagine," Vincent said to Leviah's back as he walked past, his voice loaded with stoicism and pride. "She'll never give in."
On reaching his recliner, Leviah turned to face Vincent. "Oh, I don't expect her to." He picked up his glass of blood and drank deep. He gasped in satisfaction, a smile flittering across his face. "You know, I'm actually feeling a little... excited." He uttered the final word with a gleam in his eye. "But, only just a little," he added, the gleam soon fading. He sat up in his seat. "Sammy!" he barked.
Sammy came running over. "Yes, boss."
"Now that the good general is out of action for the evening, how many men have we got left?"
Sammy shrugged. "Not sure."
"Well, however many it is, get them to step up their hunt. I want every floor of this building combed. Let's see how good she really is." Leviah stared past them all at the elevator as he spoke. Nixon's prone body remained where it was. "And do something about that oaf's snoring will you?"
"Yes, boss," Sammy replied before he got on his phone.
Leviah let out a small sigh. "This is where the fun really begins," he said with a menacing grin.
Sammy strode to the Japanese blinds with purpose. He got back on his radio to give orders.
"Boss!" a frantic voice shouted through the radio. "Okay to speak now?"
Sammy groaned. "Yeah, what was it you wanted?"
"Both express elevators were moving at the same time."
Sammy stopped. "What?"
"Yeah. Both elevators were on the move."
Sammy's eyes widened. "The sneaky bitch!"
"What do you want us to do?"
"What do you think, asshole?" Sammy raged into his radio. "Go after her!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Trixie sent Nixon on his way before jumping into the adjacent express elevator which was ready and waiting for her. She knew she was taking a big risk, but hopefully both elevators running simultaneously would create enough confusion to open up a window. By the time they realized what was going on, she'd be a lot closer to the ninety-seventh.
The doors slid shut and she pushed the button for the ninety-fifth floor. As Nixon's elevator was already on its way up, she was playing catchup. She checked her watch. She gave herself twenty seconds max. That way she could still make it out of the elevator before they could lock it down. She just hoped she could get out in time before they did. It was risky, but boy would it would help. A lot.
The elevator began its ascent. She watched the panel with anxious eyes. It went from 30 to 31 to 32 in no time. Soon, it was up to 37. She guessed Nixon would be around fifty-five/sixty by now, give or take. Her legs started trembling; she half-expected to see the panel change at any moment, either going into lockdown or reversing back down to the lobby. But the way she figured, with Nixon out of the game, the chain of command
would be sent into haywire; no one knowing what to do. The buffoons making up the bulk of Blacklake are great at taking orders, not so hot on making them. Nixon must have known where she was because of the cameras. She spotted one pointed at the elevators in the lobby of Meatpack Food Solutions. She wasn't prepared to make that mistake again, so she snuck up to it and smashed it down off the wall, putting it out of commission before she got to work hauling Nixon's ass to the elevator. That way, no one could see what she was up to.
She began rocking on her heels, that sensation of her life out of her own hands sneaking up on her. "Come on, come on," she kept repeating to herself, biting her lower lip, her eyes fixed on that panel. 42. She kept contemplating on when to bail. Now? Wait? If she waited too long, she risked being snared by Blacklake. Bail too early and she'd miss a golden chance to scale most of the building. It was a dilemma, a heart-stopping dilemma. She wrung her hands to the point of wearing her knuckles to bone, her unblinking stare fixed on that panel above the doors. In no time, 44 became 48. She guessed Nixon would be at around sixty-five-ish. They'd be congregated by the elevator doors on the ninety-seventh, guns at the ready; ready to plaster her with bullets. There was no way they were gonna let them all just walk away. No way. And after what she saw in Meatpack Food Soltuions, there was no way she wanted to negotiate with them. She wanted them dead. All of them.
50.
Exactly halfway.
She checked her watch. She'd been in there for eleven seconds. It felt like eleven hours. The elevator went into a brief rumble like airplane turbulence. Her heart leaped into her throat. The ride smoothed and she blew her cheeks in relief, her eyes still on that panel. 55.
"Come on, come on..." Rocking on her heels.
60.
Nixon at around 80.
Almost there. Shall I cash in my chips? Hit or twist? Hit or twist? It was like taking a dare to go wading in crocodile infested waters. Can you make it across without losing a limb?
She checked her watch; 15 seconds had elapsed. She had to think of bailing out very soon. A second or two too much and she could be trapped. But what if she could make it all the way up to the roof then go down from there? That would be ideal. She licked her lips. 65. Her ears popped. Her eyes darted from the panel above the door to the panel inside the door; the number ninety was lit up. Should I risk it? Her hazy mind fizzed with uncertainty. Stick? Twist? 67. Stick? Twist? 68. STICK? TWIST?
She let out a tortured shriek and slammed her fist down on the button for the next floor. 72. The elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors slid open. She hopped out of the elevator as if escaping a bomb, her mind caught between relief and regret. The doors slid shut behind her. She watched them go, wondering what might have been. She thought of going back in, but Nixon would have made his entrance at ninety-seven by now. It was too late; they'd be all over the elevators.
She shook her head in disappointment. Even though she'd made it up fifty-odd floors in a matter of seconds, she couldn't help but feel like she'd missed an opportunity to make it higher up the building. She stared longingly at the elevator, just as a shiver crawled up her spine like spectral fingers. Her ears pricked. She frowned. An uncomfortable sensation then overcame her. It was as if she were a grazing deer unwittingly caught in the crosshairs of a hunter's rifle. Something wasn't right. She turned around. Up in the corner was a camera. But it wasn't that sending her that sensation. She turned to the left; a glass paneled door lead out to an auditorium; another conference room. Another movie was playing on the giant projector screen at the front, lighting up empty seats and tables, creating lots of shadows. Shadows that appeared to bob and crawl across the carpet.
"More BS," she said to herself, directing her words at the movie. She headed for the door leading out to the auditorium. She wanted to take the stairwell at the other end of the floor, hopefully losing any tracking they might have on her. She pulled open the glass door and entered the empty auditorium. The sign on the far wall indicated the exit. And that's where she headed. She went past the empty chairs and tables, noting they'd been moved around. Another conference interrupted? Maybe.
She didn't care, she just wanted to get going up more flights of stairs. Now that they'd have found Nixon, they'd up their search, and they'd be pissed. She had to keep moving.
As she went, she caught a brief glimpse of the movie playing on the screen. She saw a flickering image of world currency symbols: the Dollar, Pound Sterling, Euro, Yen. They were all streamlined and absorbed into another symbol: a G. G for what? She shook her head in confusion. These Order vamps and their plans. I mean, what--
She stopped. A harsh tingle began to break out in her spine. Her senses heightened. She swore she saw something move in the shadows. The movie continued on its loop, making the shadows bob and weave around the room. She stared intently at the shadows; a shuffle across the carpet made her spin.
Something was definitely moving in the darkness. She wasn't alone.
And the tingling in her spine told her it was vamps. Not Blacklake, but vamps hiding and skulking in the shadows. She pulled out her holy water dart gun and watched the shadows. Something moved out of the corner of her eye and she whirled that way, her dart gun aimed. The scant light thrown off the big screen offered little in terms of revelation.
"Come on," she whispered to herself.
There was a knock against a table and a chair fell over. She turned to meet it to the sound of feet shuffling across carpet. Her spine tingled with more ferocity. They were closing in. Inch-by-inch. Her heart began beating harder; she could hear it in her ears. Shivers crawled all over her like ants. "Get ready, Trixie."
More shuffling behind her. She turned, then a knock against a table; she turned back three-sixty. Harsh whispers in the darkness. She was surrounded.
The projector screen turned white, bleaching the auditorium a harsh lunar-like hue. The shadows were diminished, revealing anything that had been hidden before. A savagely wrinkled face was poking out the side of a nearby chair; it hissed. Trixie recoiled in horror. The face then vanished behind an overturned table, before another body bundled past a chair to her right. She turned, catching a glimpse of a scared old man scampering away like a frightened cat. She trained her dart gun at its back as it hid behind a table. It peeked over the top at her with wide, concerned eyes like an animal in the throes of survival. Trixie squinted. What in the--
More movement behind her; she spun. Two more were eyeing her from beneath a table like hiding children. One of them had parted lips, showing her fangs. She swallowed and turned, her gun aimed at the tables and chairs surrounding her. She spotted more of them scurrying here and there like imps. Little old men in suits cowering in the darkness.
What in the hell are these? Trixie thought to herself. These aren't a threat. One of them hissed in her direction. Trixie pointed her dart gun in its direction and it backed down, vanishing behind a chair. There was more shuffling behind her and then it was going on all around her. They were moving fast here and there like a cartload of chimpanzees. Trixie's eyes widened; she knew what they were up to. They were encircling her. They were keeping their distance, moving around the perimeter of the auditorium, but blocking off both exits. With cautious steps, she began to head toward the exit where the stairs were located, her eyes fixed on all of them at once. She stared at them, baffled by them. These are the Blood Order vamps? The inner nest of Leviah? A bunch of frail old men? This is his brood? These are the creatures running the US? The world? Surely not. Her face pinched in disbelief.
One of them managed a snarl at her; a nasty scowl. She shoved her dart gun in its direction and it backed down. She kept turning in eccentric circles as she moved through the auditorium, her gun trained on all of them at once. These ancient things, no doubt the CEOs of ISIS, Kronos, and ugh Meatpack Food Solutions.
All of a sudden, she was reminded of that boring story Dad always liked to drone on about, the one where he was trapped in a nest with five vamps and blah blah blah.
Well, eat yer heart out, Dad, I'm surrounded by about fifteen of the suckers!
They all danced and hopped amongst the tables and chairs, taking it in turns to try and ice her, hoping to lock her in place so they could get in a bite and pacify her with venom. She thanked her lucky stars for the lenses protecting her mind from their hypnotic tricks. She could see the frustration crawling all over their dry, crinkled faces once they realized their mind control was having no effect.
"Nice try," she said, addressing them all at once. "Your tricks don't work on me."
"Hey, boys, looks like we got us a holy moly here!" one of them rasped.
"She ain't holy," another one countered. "I can smell the filth on her from here!"
She spun to face him. He was a shriveled creature in a shirt and tie with skin like parchment. "Holier than thou, Jack," she retorted.
Hoarse cackles erupted all around her like demented crows.
"I like her," one declared. "I want first dibs on her blood."
"No, it's mine! You got the last one!"
"That's a lie!"
"I'm none of yours," Trixie told them. She sucked in a lungful of musky office air, her arm outstretched as she continued to pirouette. She could see they were closing in, encroaching her space every time she turned her back on them. Like hyenas, they were entrapping the lion, bit-by-bit. Closing off the space, giving her no room to maneuver. A little more and then they could--
A grotesque grin came up close in her face; she recoiled in horror. By the time she recovered, aimed her dart gun, and fired, the vamp was hopping away, rubbing his hands in glee. The dart flew off and hit the carpet.
She didn't want to waste any more ammo. She needed to make sure she had a clean shot, but they were moving and hiding too fast. She glared around them all as they continued scuttling around her like dark elves, evil leprechauns taunting their prey.
"Oh boy, I haven't had this much fun since 1863," one of them declared.
"Yeah, I can't wait to get my teeth into this fine piece of ass," another chirped.