But from behind him, Ellenshaw could hear snatches of chanting.
Osric.
Ellenshaw looked back at Acheson’s struggling form, torn. But he made up his mind and turned his back on the scene as he sprinted down the dark corridor to where flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on white walls.
***
The vamp’s fangs sunk into the reinforced collar of his body armor, missing his flesh by millimeters. Acheson felt the sharp points press against his skin, held back by the padded Kevlar. He managed to get his right hand under the vamp’s jaw, and he pushed it away from him with all his strength. Though the vamp had the greater strength, he had the leverage. But looming over his attacker was another vamp, and behind it, yet another. They streamed toward him, hissing and snarling.
A hail of gunfire broke their charge as silver-jacketed bullets tore through them, ripping away chunks of their dead, waxen flesh. The ghouls howled as they were forced back, and Acheson saw Cecil and Julia advancing up the staircase. The muzzles of their weapons spat fire. Nacho was right behind them, and he raked the ceiling with his own weapon, bringing down one of the vamps as it tried to scurry away. It crashed to the floor, and Julia fired a burst into its head.
“Help Acheson!” she screamed to Jerry Licht, bringing up the very rear. Licht was obviously frightened to death, and he looked at Acheson as he grappled with the half-vampire.
“Go on!” Cecil shouted at him over the roaring SAW. He covered Julia and Nacho as they methodically staked the vampires.
Licht stumbled up the steps and hurried to Acheson. The vampire sensed him approaching and turned toward him, snapping its jaws. Licht stopped short, slack-jawed and eyes wide.
“Jerry.” Acheson tried to keep his voice calm. “Jerry, get a hold of yourself and shoot this thing through the head.”
Licht advanced the last few steps and raised his MP-5. He aimed it at the thrashing vampire only a few feet away.
“Don’t look into its eyes!” Acheson warned.
“I’m not—I’m looking at its fucking teeth!” Licht inched a little closer and squeezed the trigger. A quick burst ripped through the vampire’s skull, blasting half of it into oblivion. Acheson rolled and pinned the twitching corpse beneath his left arm. He reached into his knapsack with his free hand. His fingers found the wooden stake, and he slammed it home. The vampire spat ichor, then fell still.
“Holy fucking shit!” Licht said, overwhelmed. “I mean—holy fucking shit!”
Acheson rolled toward him, trying to get to his feet. Licht reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to help. Acheson shouted and jerked Licht toward him instead as the last remaining vampire catapulted over Julia, Cecil, and Nacho. It landed right behind Licht, and before anyone could react, it latched onto him, sank its fangs into his neck, and launched itself over the balcony. Licht screamed.
“Jerry!” Cecil shouted, stunned.
“Nail that thing!” Acheson screamed. “Don’t let it get away!”
All of them were at the balcony rail an instant later, weapons shouldered. The vampire crouched over Licht’s kicking body, feeding on him even as Licht kicked and flailed beneath it. He didn’t scream. Acheson saw his face for a moment, and his eyes were glazed, overcome by shock as the ghoul tore into his neck, feeding on the blood pumping from his severed carotid artery.
The vampire and Licht were savaged by the ensuing fusillade. When it was over, Licht had moved on. The pieces of the vampire continued to twitch and shudder as they drew themselves together.
Acheson turned and looked at the rest of the vamps on the landing. All had been staked and beheaded, decomposing. He nodded toward the remaining ghoul below as it slowly reconstituted.
“On it,” Julia said.
“Nacho, go with her. Cecil, you’re with me.”
“Roger that.” Cecil stepped back from the railing and looked around as Julia and Nacho descended. He frowned.
“Where’s Ellenshaw?” he asked.
“Helena took him,” Acheson answered.
“Gud damn,” Cecil muttered in response.
Acheson jerked his head toward the doorway Helena had led Ellenshaw into. “This way.”
Before they had taken five steps, a large crack ran up one wall, spitting plaster as it went. The stairway landing tilted, and part of the polished wood floor splintered. Acheson and Cecil fell against the wall, which bowed inward. The crack raced toward the ceiling. The mansion shook and shuddered as if caught in the grip of a powerful earthquake.
“I don’t believe it!” Cecil shouted. “This place is slidin’ down the fuckin’ hill!”
***
Ellenshaw advanced into the second-story great room, the butt of his M-4 tight against his shoulder. The room’s furnishings had been replaced by an elaborate maze of candelabras. Burning candles cast flickering shadows about the room. From the corner of his eye, Ellenshaw saw they were more than shadows—he had the impression of dark demons laying waste to the planet, devouring Mankind and his cities whole in one immense, shimmering mural of debasement. It was incredibly foul; if he contemplated it for too long, he knew he would lose his mind.
In the center of all this, Osric stood tall before a huge, dark mirror framed in wood that was almost black in color. He chanted, staring into the mirror with an intensity that would have been frightening had it not been framed by so much undulating terror on the walls. Behind him, Claudia Nero lay on her back, completely naked. As her fingers danced back and forth across the heart of her sex, it was not lost on Ellenshaw that her most private part was pointed directly at the mirror. Her hips writhed up and down, and her mouth formed a perfect O as she shuddered in primal lust.
Not far from her, though in no apparent position of importance, lay Chiho. She appeared to be semi-conscious, at best. Like Claudia, she was naked, but that seemed to be by circumstance, not consequence. Dark shadows formed around her, broke apart, then reformed. Whether or not she had a part to play in the black ceremony, she had been noticed.
As had Ellenshaw. He sensed some of the shadows surging toward him in erratic jerks, filling in the momentary gaps left by the flickering candles. Ellenshaw thought they lacked sufficient power to harm him, but that was likely temporary. Whether they had the strength to bring him down, they stalked him just the same.
Ellenshaw pointed his M-4 at Osric and fired. The weapon barked twice, then fell silent. The weapon’s final rounds found their target, but the tall vampire barely moved. He did not react to the onslaught of the silver-jacketed projectiles, but the flickering shadows surrounding the room did. They dispersed for an instant, flashing around the room like a disturbed school of fish before reorienting on him. Ellenshaw knew his time was up. He dropped the M-4 to the floor as he pulled his pistol.
At the same time, Osric stepped toward the mirror and reached for its dark surface. His fingertips settled on the black glass for an instant… and then passed through it.
“Osric!” Ellenshaw shouted. He raised the pistol and aimed at Osric’s broad back, but a talon of shadow raked across his calf. Blood oozed from the cut that had parted the fabric of his dark cargo pants. Ellenshaw fired as whips of shadow lashed out at him, slicing his skin, tearing his uniform, scraping across his armor. And while his bullets found their mark, Osric paid him no mind at all. He reached deeper into the mirror, casting about in the darkness. He reached in with his other hand and pulled with all his might. The mirror’s ebony surface rippled like water.
Ellenshaw cried out as one of the shadowy whips raked across the face, opening a shallow cut that ran from eyebrow to jaw line. His last two shots missed Osric and hit the mirror, but they disappeared into its liquid surface. Osric pulled, and his hands reappeared, but now they held the wrist of an even larger entity. Its skin was a glossy black, and its thick fingers ended in talons whose tips were sharpened to infinity. In that one moment, Ellenshaw realized what was happening. The mirror was a doorway, and Osric was playing the midwife at the birth of a new kind o
f evil.
The mansion trembled, and Ellenshaw stumbled as the floor buckled beneath him. Several candelabras fell against each other, collapsing like a row of dominos. As the candle flames sputtered and died, only then did Osric react. He looked about with a puzzled expression as he continued to pull on the dark demon’s wrist, exposing its thickly-muscled forearm. Claudia Nero gasped with passion, squirming about on the floor behind him.
Osric looked across the room and saw Ellenshaw. His look of bewilderment was replaced by one of sudden recognition—and a flash of fear.
“Ellenshaw!” he roared. “You’re too late, worm! Only God himself could intervene, and it seems he doesn’t even care!”
Ellenshaw brought up his Beretta and fired again and again, pelting Osric and the mirror with bullets. Those that struck the demon disappeared in puffs of blue flame. Those that struck Osric seemed to add fuel to his confident bravado.
“Only God, Ellenshaw!” he crowed. “Where is He?”
The floor buckled again, and Ellenshaw fell against the wall. Shadows slashed at him, and he lost his grip on the Beretta. It hit the floor with a metallic clatter and spun away from him. Ellenshaw dived after it as black blades of shadow hacked at him.
Then the angle of the floor changed. The windows overlooking the city of Los Angeles shattered as their casements warped and twisted. Osric cried out as he lost his grip on the demonic arm, and it sank a few inches back into the mirror. He seized it again and pulled with all his might, exposing the appendage up to its elbow. Ellenshaw watched with mounting fright. Whatever Osric was pulling forth, it was huge.
The floor tilted again, and wood splintered as joists failed. More candelabras fell into disorganized jumbles, and the shadows that had been attacking Ellenshaw retreated. He realized then that what had looked like a forest of candelabras was in fact something else: a complex pattern, integral to the ceremony itself. Each candle’s position was in precise relation to the symbols drawn on the great room’s floor, and as they changed, the supernatural power filling the room became diffuse, unfocused…
Unsustainable! Ellenshaw scrambled to his feet and grabbed a fallen candelabra. It was heavy, but he swung it like a bat and sent a score of candelabrum toppling to the floor. The candle flames sputtered and died. At the same time, the storm outside intensified, battering the mansion with rain and wind. Osric screamed as the balcony beyond the shattered windows collapsed, taking the wall with it. Wind howled through the room, snuffing out the candles and toppling the branched candlesticks that held them. The floor tilted crazily, and the mirror slid toward the gaping hole that led to the night. Osric dug in his heels and pulled on the demon’s arm with all his might.
The mirror paused for a moment, but with a cracking roar, the floor gave away beneath it. Its dark glass became solid again, then shattered as the mirror fell out into the night.
“Noooo!” Claudia Nero screamed. The pain and suffering in her voice was unbearable, and it affected Ellenshaw like a physical blow. Whatever psychic stress she’d been under had driven her straight into insanity’s waiting embrace.
Osric collapsed onto his back. He still held the demon’s arm, but it had been severed at the elbow. As he watched with wide eyes, it disintegrated into black dust that was swept away by the wet wind.
Osric screamed loud and long, and not even the roaring wind could overcome the power of his voice.
Ellenshaw couldn’t find the Beretta. He reached to the small of his back and pulled his final firearm, a SIGArms P225. As he pushed himself to his knees, Osric spread his arms and darted into the air like some sort of monstrous kite. He spun and glared down at Ellenshaw with hate-filled eyes.
“You dare,” he snarled. “You silly, pathetic piece of blood-filled shit. You dare!”
Claudia rose to her feet before him. Wild-eyed, she tore at her hair.
“Where?” she cried. “Where is he? Where? You promised me!”
Osric looked down at her with utter contempt, then struck her so hard he shattered her spine. Ellenshaw cried out as she was flung to the far side of the room by the power of the blow. Osric fixed his baleful glare on him, and a bolt of terror shot through Ellenshaw. As Osric flew toward him like a fighter jet, he raised the pistol and fired again and again. The rounds passed through Osric and only intensified his fury.
“Insect!” he roared.
He was less than five feet away when one of his arms was blasted off his body. Another explosion occurred deep inside him, knocking him off course, distending his chest. Osric slammed into the wall beside Ellenshaw—indeed, he almost crashed right through it before he rebounded and fell to the floor on his back, stunned as another series of rippling explosions ripped him open.
Acheson and Cecil advanced into the room, peppering Osric with all the firepower they could deliver. Osric roared and levitated again, spinning toward them in a complete, blind rage. They continued firing at Osric, blasting away bits and pieces of him as he hovered there.
“Stop!” Osric thundered, and a queer force crackled through the room. Both Acheson and Cecil cried out as they were flung backwards, skidding along the floor. Osric drifted toward them, emanating waves of hatred that hit the men with physical force. Osric seized Acheson’s right arm with his remaining hand, and the bone snapped loudly. Acheson cried out, wilting.
“Maybe I underestimated you,” Osric snarled. “Just as well, I’ll need a new leader for my Family, someone sharp and resourceful and ruthless. You’ll do just fine, Acheson.”
He spread his jaws wide and dipped his head forward. Instead of sinking his fangs into the man’s exposed flesh, he cried out and dropped him to the ground. Osric’s jaws opened and closed, like a fish out of water. His eyes widened with agony.
“Surprise.” Acheson wiggled the stake he had thrust into Osric’s chest from side to side. Osric looked down at the protrusion as he slowly settled toward the floor.
“It can’t be,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “It can’t be!”
Steel sang, and Osric slowly looked over his shoulder. Ellenshaw advanced upon him, and in his right hand was his machete. Osric’s lips moved, but he said nothing.
“You forgot about me?” Ellenshaw lifted the machete high. “And after all the years I’ve spent trying to get your attention, Osric. I can’t believe you’d just forget about me like that.”
“Ellenshaw,” he said with a sigh. He settled onto his knees, head lolling. Dark, putrid liquid oozed from around the stake and down his parchment-white belly
Ellenshaw beheaded Osric with a single stroke.
27
It took two days for the hurricane to dissipate, but when it did, the sky over southern California shone bright and beautiful. Temporarily cleaned of smog, Los Angeles was revealed anew, washed clean and shiny. The city had changed, of course. The storm had caused billions of dollars in damage as mudslides took multimillion dollar homes from one neighborhood and deposited their remains in another. One of Hollywood’s most famous film studios had disappeared into a gigantic sinkhole, and the surging tidal waters had swept inland and all but washed away the 405. Commuting would be an even tougher affair than usual for the next several years.
Usually, the team leader was summoned to Washington D.C. to make a final report and presentation. This time, since there wasn’t a lot of team left, exceptions were made. Michael Millhouse and Bernard Schechter, Fiedler’s two hatchet men, flew out in a government-owned Gulfstream 450 to debrief Acheson directly. And they had a small surprise with them—Erskine Fiedler himself.
They met Acheson at the Plant after he had been released from the hospital. Millhouse and Schectner were very similar in appearance and mannerisms, wearing identical gray suits and sporting the same kind of salt-and-pepper mustache. Millhouse still had hair, which he combed back from his forehead. Schectner was mostly bald and kept his remaining hair cut bristle-short, much like Fiedler himself. Fiedler handled the debriefing, relegating Millhouse and Schectner to taking notes, even
though the session was electronically recorded.
Fiedler’s interview style was blunt and direct, with no passion or recrimination. There were topics Acheson was reluctant to discuss—such as Sharon, and Chiho, and the nature of the relationship that had existed among the three of them. Fiedler was gently insistent, but seemed to know the boundaries; he didn’t press too hard when the questions strayed off the topic of Osric. Acheson told him all he knew, and retold it twice more, during a twelve-hour span.
The next day, Ellenshaw was put through the same process. His session also took almost twelve hours, during which he was upfront and non-evasive. Over the next three days, Millhouse and Schectner interviewed the rest of the team at the Plant, with the exception of Rick Wallace, who was still in the hospital recovering from his injuries. That did not spare him, however, and he also suffered several hours of interviews, though his sessions were abbreviated owing to his condition. His attending physician was insistent on that, and Millhouse and Schectner, the “twins of evil” as they were known, had to play ball.
“Those guys are dicks,” Rick told Acheson later during a visit. “I mean, they’re like the same guy, even if they didn’t look alike. Maybe they’re fraternal twins. Or maybe they’re salami-garglers who are doing each other.”
Acheson rolled his eyes and told Rick he would pick him up in two days, when he was scheduled to be released.
Fiedler stayed at the Plant taking care of affairs during the time Millhouse and Schectner discharged their final interviews. On the day before their departure, he called Acheson into one final meeting. Only Acheson, Fiedler, and Ellenshaw were present.
“This is informal,” Fiedler told them in his high, reedy voice. “I’ll be very quick about it, but I’d like to ask some questions that are off the record. Your answers will not be entered into a legal document of any kind.”
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