Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3)

by Clay Griffith Susan Griffith

  Small black shapes lifted into the air above the green haze. They rode the wind toward the fleet cruising over the jagged coastline. Soldiers on board Ranger crowded the side with rifles ready. Men stood at heavy machine guns mounted on the rails and in the tops.

  Stoddard’s pulse throbbed in his head as he watched the drifting horde close. The vampires shifted in the air like summer insects, making it nearly impossible to draw a bead on them. Most of the creatures made for Bolivar until the escort ships peppered the sky with small-arms fire and shrapnel shells from their cannons. Stoddard felt the deck vibrate as Ranger’s guns opened up. The weapons fire drew the attention of the vampires.

  Soon the air around Ranger and her sister ships was thick with vampires. Machine guns chattered. Bullets cut through the creatures tumbling in the air, who then maneuvered and righted themselves. It never failed to surprise humans to see vampires absorb massive damage and keep coming as if nothing had happened. It was easy for humans to panic and break if they were unfamiliar with it. The creatures seemed supernatural and undefeatable.

  “Keep firing!” Clark shouted. “Keep at ’em!”

  Stoddard pulled his long-barreled Colt Army revolver and shot into the masts, where vampires landed and crawled among the sails and spars like horrible lizards. The faces of the creatures were horrific. The vampires came ever closer, seizing the railings, crawling down the masts, and over the surface of the metal cage enclosing the dirigible.

  “Shriekers!” Stoddard yelled, unsure if he could be heard over the thick gunfire. “Shriekers!”

  He swung his glowing Fahrenheit saber at a creature as it tried to push through the line of troopers who were already being pressed back from the rail by savage claws and teeth. Some soldiers drew short swords and pistols for bloody close action. Others fired their rifles up into the yards to keep the creatures from dropping behind them.

  “Keep them back!” the senator commanded with amazing composure. If the vampires broke the line and got to the center of the deck, they would create a terrible melee and throw the humans into chaos.

  A high-pitched scream started across the length of the ship. Stoddard saw an airman standing at a pedestal, turning a handle attached to a simple brass box contraption with an amplifier horn on one side. The shrieker’s terrible whine felt like a knife in Stoddard’s head, and the vampires, whose hearing was far more sensitive, staggered and even drew back. The soldiers pressed the advantage with guns and blades, hacking and shooting the creatures, gaining back precious feet of deck space.

  The victory was short-lived. Two vampires dropped onto the sailor at the shrieker and bore him to the deck. In seconds, they eviscerated him and then tried to damage the metal gears of the shrieker.

  Stoddard leapt to them, firing his pistol and delivering a solid saber blow to one vampire’s neck. The thing jerked and fell. Stoddard fired again, and then the hammer fell on an empty cylinder. A bloody smile appeared before him.

  The grinning vampire’s face exploded. Senator Clark kicked the flailing thing to the deck and shot it several more times. Dripping with gore, Stoddard reloaded his revolver and, without comment, stepped onto the shrieker’s platform. He tugged the handle slowly at first, but then it caught and the noise began to rise, cutting through his head. Clark turned away to rejoin the smoke and blood around them.

  Creatures moved overhead like monkeys in a tropical forest. Stoddard shot upward when he could see a target, and ducked wildly when he couldn’t. The wail of the shrieker became a dull thud in his head. He could no longer hear the sounds of gunfire or soldiers screaming. It seemed like hours that he stood turning that handle while pale arms reached for him. Razor blades raked his head and face. Warm blood drizzled down and fell onto his hands and the wooden planks. Soldiers protecting him fell bloody at his feet. Vampires dropped twitching, heads smashed by rifle butts, chests opened by swords and axes.

  Stoddard saw Senator Clark draw a hand across his throat in a signal to stop. The major released the shrieker handle and let it wind down on its own. Only when he let go did he realize he was too weak to stand and stumbled to the deck on top of bodies, both human and vampire. Hands grabbed him and he saw faces mouthing words he couldn’t hear. They pressed him back against the shrieker pedestal and he stared at the underside of the dirigible, watching the tattered lines and flapping sails.

  Fabric rustled overhead, backlit by the sun. Sails.

  Stoddard had to report to Senator Clark. He struggled to stand, but his feet were trapped by cloth. Perhaps one of the yardarms had fallen on the deck. Oddly enough, his boots were gone. He was barefooted. He reached down to pull himself free of the entanglement. The deck was strangely soft and spongy; it was difficult to stand. Still he pushed up until something gave way and he tumbled hard to the ground.

  Voices shouted. Fingers seized his arms, pulling him to his feet. He tried to shove them away. He had to find the senator. He recognized the face of Dr. Lo, the ship’s surgeon on Ranger. The doctor stared at him and spoke softly with unintelligible words. Stoddard was pushed down onto a cot. He felt the edge of the makeshift bed, the hard wooden slats and the rough canvas.

  This wasn’t the deck of Ranger. He turned to each side and saw rows of cots filled with men. They were all injured. The canvas around him wasn’t a sail. It was a tent.

  He was in a camp hospital. He wondered why.

  “Can you hear me, Major?”

  Stoddard looked at Dr. Lo, who smiled with obvious relief.

  “Excellent,” the doctor said in an oddly muffled voice.

  “Where is Senator Clark?” Stoddard asked slowly.

  Dr. Lo laughed. “Don’t worry about him. He’s fine. Not a scratch, as usual. You, on the other hand, took a beating. They say you stood at the shrieker while vampires clawed you to pieces. And since I put every one of five hundred stitches in you, I’d say they’re right.” He took Stoddard’s wrist and felt his forehead. “You can hear, at least. Pulse is strong enough. No fever that I can tell. Lucky your wounds haven’t gone septic. Vampires are filthy things.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Wilmington.”

  “We took the city?”

  “Yes. The vampires fled.”

  “How long has it been?”

  The doctor thought. “Four days? Something like that. I’ve lost track of time with all the casualties.”

  “Four days.” Stoddard started to rise. “I’ve got to get back to duty.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Major. Just lie still.”

  Stoddard grimaced and fell back, exhausted. His head was splitting, and there was a sharp buzzing in his ears. He smelled a nauseating stench.

  Apparently he made a face at the stink because Dr. Lo said, “We tried to move the hospital far enough out, but you can still smell it.”

  “What is it?”

  “They’re burning the herds. Or burying them as fast as we can. Thank goodness it’s still cold or I’d be a lot more worried about cholera. I don’t look forward to spring and summer assaults.”

  Stoddard asked groggily, “How many did we kill?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t tell you. The vampires fought for a few hours, then took off to the north.”

  “No. How many humans?”

  “Last figure I saw, across the fleet, we lost six hundred and fifty killed in battle. Over five thousand wounded, and nearly twenty-five hundred seriously. And a thousand of those will die soon enough from infection.”

  “How many of the locals? The local humans. How many did we kill?”

  “All of them. All of them in Wilmington anyway. Thousands? Who knows? Who counts? They just stood there and died like animals in the gas.”

  Stoddard tried to block out the smell of burnt flesh by covering his nose with the crook of his elbow before rolling to retch over the side of the cot.

  Major Stoddard left the medical tent the next day. The makeshift hospital was a collection of large tents set amidst a vast forest of tall straight pine
trees. The medical camp was surrounded by a barbed wire fence and machine-gun emplacements, and it was patrolled by soldiers with pikes. Troopers saluted the major as he limped toward a gate, or gap in the wire enclosure. A crude wagon waited with a single thin horse. The private on the buckboard gave Stoddard a hand up.

  “Where’d this wagon come from?” the major asked.

  “Here in town. Found the horse not far away from some herds who lived outside town.” The soldier laughed. “Pretending to be real people. Funny, huh?”

  Stoddard didn’t reply as the wagon lurched forward. They rolled between countless crackling cadaver bonfires that sent black greasy plumes into the sky. More wagons lumbered the rutted path. They were loaded with twisted limbs of the dead.

  As they rolled out of the pine forest, Wilmington appeared squat and brick. It was dwarfed by the bulk of Bolivar floating above it, its shadow like a pall over the city. The smell of burning mixed with the faint sweetness of poison gas. The poison lost its potency after twenty-four hours or so, but enough of the green residue clung to surfaces to give the town a sugary stench. The wagon jostled over cobblestones, aggravating Stoddard’s injuries, but he refused to show it.

  Gangs of soldiers moved through town, carrying tools rather than weapons—shovels, axes, and crowbars. They wore gas masks or kerchiefs over their faces. Stoddard saw them lugging bodies out of buildings. Then he noticed a group squatting and lounging on a long porch of what had once been a fine home surrounded by great oaks now just beginning to show budding leaves. The windows of the house were boarded up, so one trooper was busy hacking at the front door with an axe.

  “Hold up,” Stoddard said, and as the wagon slowed, he stumbled to the ground. He approached the house, and all the soldiers stood and straightened themselves. They saluted and greeted him; everyone knew Senator Clark’s right hand. He addressed the private with the axe. “What are you doing, trooper?”

  “Checking the house for bodies, sir,” the private said in a monotone. There were dark circles under his eyes.

  “How long have you been at it?”

  “Our squad? Two days, sir. Pretty much since we came in on the Juarez.

  “Are you finding people inside these homes?”

  “Yes, sir. Pretty much every time.” Several of the other men nodded or gave exhausted moans in agreement.

  “Carry on. I want to see inside.”

  The private returned to chopping at the door. Fortunately the wood was old and nearly rotten. It splintered easily, opening large gaps. The soldier began to kick it with his boot. Others joined in and pulled wood away with their hands. Finally, when the door was largely gone, the private stood aside. “You want to go first, Major?”

  “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

  “Just a second, sir.” The trooper pulled a cloth from his pocket and soaked it with liquid from a small flask. He handed it to Stoddard and pulled a kerchief up around his own face. “I’d wear that, if I was you, sir. It stinks something awful sometimes.”

  Stoddard tied the cloth around his head and positioned it over his nose. It smelled of citrus. Lemonade. He pulled his sidearm and stepped into the entryway.

  The house was orderly, if simple. There was no furniture to be seen, but it was not a wreck. The soldiers entered behind him, rather casually. They didn’t seem to expect any resistance.

  “Shouldn’t you boys be armed?” Stoddard asked.

  “Haven’t found anyone capable of causing trouble yet, Major.”

  The rooms on the ground floor were empty, but for a few simple chairs. In the rear of the house was a kitchen of sorts with a table and chairs. And at one end of the table was a handmade highchair. Along the countertop was a row of crockery. Stoddard opened the tops and saw dried beans and peas, as well as potatoes. In a side cabinet, there were strips of dried meat and fresh sausages. The downstairs yielded nothing more, so they started up the staircase, each step emitting loud creaks that echoed through the house. At the top of the stairs there was a hallway with several doors, all closed.

  One of the soldiers muttered, “It’s like a creepy dollhouse. It’s almost as if the vampires wanted us to think the damn herds lived better than I do in Valladolid.”

  “Spread out and search these rooms.” Stoddard noticed several soldiers rolling their eyes at his unnecessary command as he went to the door at the far end of the hall.

  There had been a doorknob at one time, but it was long gone. The door was cracked, and any paint it may have had was flaked away. Stoddard pushed it open.

  It swung back, and flies rose in a swarm from the middle of the room. He saw five corpses. A man and a woman, around his age, huddled together. An older man lay off to one side with a boy around fifteen years old. Stoddard stepped closer, noting their simple homespun clothing. Everything in the room, including the bodies, was coated with a light dusting of green.

  On the wooden floor between the man and woman, he saw another shape. The couple was crouched, trying to cover it, to shield it, to protect it. A child that was perhaps two years old. It was a girl. Her hair was tied with a bow of red ribbon. And in her little fingers was clutched a doll made of straw. She was huddled over the doll, like her parents, trying to protect it in turn.

  One of the soldiers dropped into a crouch and covered his face with a groan.

  “She has a toy,” Stoddard breathed to himself. “My God. What have we done?”

  “MAJOR STODDARD, GLAD to see you up and about.”

  Senator Clark was bent over a table studying maps, so he couldn’t see the major as he entered the room. The vast upper bedroom of a spacious waterfront house was now the senator’s command center. The window faced the wharves, and the sounds of men and machines and animals wafted in. None of the carnage was visible from Clark’s high window, but the blue sky over the Cape Fear River was crowded with airships, helping to fortify this northernmost outpost of the American Republic. The walls of the room were papered with poor maps of the east coast of the old United States.

  “Thank you, sir.” Stoddard stepped to the table and glanced down at the map that now had Clark’s handwritten notes for the coming assault on Richmond.

  “Wilmington was no trouble, eh?” Clark puffed a gigantic black cigar. “Hardly any resistance at all.”

  Stoddard felt his wounds burning. In his hand, he clutched a small ragged doll.

  Oh!” The senator reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Good news. This ought to interest you some.”

  Stoddard could see from the broken wax seals on the paper it had been issued from both the Office of the Senate War Committee as well as the Office of President Somoza. The highest possible level of communiqué. He opened the paper and read: “Ambassador Hull, Alexandria, reports the death of His Imperial Highness, Simon, prince of Bengal, brother of Her Imperial Majesty Adele I. Killed by vampires. Details to follow.”

  Stoddard read the line again. His face flushed with shock. “Oh my God.” He looked at Senator Clark for confirmation of both the news and his dismay.

  The senator was tapping his fingers on the map, consumed by strategy. “That’s something, eh? Vampires finally got the kid. Too bad, I suppose. The boy was annoying as hell, but he had grit.”

  “How is this in any way good news?”

  “Think about it, Major.” Clark turned a conspiratorial eye on his adjutant. Cigar smoke rose in front of his face. “With the boy dead, Adele has no backup. She can’t breed a proper heir with that commoner. There are no clear successors. If something were to happen to her, Equatoria would be looking at civil war.”

  “And so?”

  “So, this is my opportunity. I’ve already received thousands of cables from Equatoria begging me to come back.”

  “Thousands of cables?”

  “Give or take.”

  “Did any of them come from the empress?”

  Clark snarled, removed his cigar, and spit on the wood floor. “She’s got nothing to do with it. See, times h
ave changed, for everybody. People with power want me back. And I don’t give a damn anymore what that girl does with her private life. But she’s got to have someone who can assume control if she dies. And she’s got to have an heir. And damn soon. I think the marriage could be back in play.” He chuckled. “I think I’ll move the capital a little bit south, though. Alexandria seems pretty friendly to vampires these days. Maybe Cairo. I’d like to have a pyramid.”

  Stoddard ignored his commander’s dreams of glory as he thought about the brave boy he had met in Equatoria. Simon had escaped death at the hands of vampires twice; once in France and again in Alexandria. Stoddard had fought with Senator Clark, as well as Adele’s teacher Mamoru and his mysterious African companion, to repel the creatures from Simon’s door after the monsters had killed Emperor Constantine.

  He studied the senator who showed no remorse for the loss of the child, or the loss of the children of Wilmington. The death of Simon was nothing to the senator but an opportunity for tactical advantage. Stoddard’s grip on the toy trembled.

  Clark said, “Got a little more news too. Seems the Equatorians finally advanced on the vampires. They took Grenoble.”

  “Really?” Stoddard nodded approval. “Excellent.”

  The senator eyed him. “Excellent? Incredible is more like it. With your friend Colonel Anhalt in command, I am surprised they managed to find their way out of Marseilles.”

  “I have great confidence in General Anhalt,” the major retorted curtly.

  “Do you now? Well, apparently it had nothing to do with the general. Reports from the front say that the Equatorians have some unknown weapon.”

  “They do? What is it?”

  “I have no idea, but I intend to find out.” Clark offered a lush Cuban cigar to the major, who declined with a sharp shake of his head. “I want you to cable your friend Anhalt and see what you can find out.”