Paranormal Nights

by CJ Ellisson

  And Darryl was a blur of movement.

  He shoved the man on his left so hard he slammed into the back wall and took Geoffrey and his bow with him. Before they hit, Darryl had launched across the truck, spinning to a sit right atop Blockhead’s lap. That made it easy to grab the Italian dagger with one hand, the .357 with the other. A twisting move got Charlie’s throat slit with a sideways slash. Charlie didn’t go easy, and Darryl felt the minute sting from Charlie’s knife embedded into his left thigh. The guy made a warbling kind of noise; shoved both hands to his throat and then fell forward. Darryl didn’t wait and watch. It was already too late for Blockhead. The guy had lousy reaction time. Darryl’s full twist to eliminate Charlie ended with stabbing Blockhead twice through the ribs beneath his left armpit, hitting his heart. A reverse saw the dagger slammed almost to the hilt into the last guy on the end’s chest. Less than a second later, Darryl was crouched with Hans and his seatmate in the pistol’s sights. Both tossed their weapons and raised their hands, the longbow clattering as it hit the floor. Darryl’s finger eased on the trigger, and then some moron decided spraying the truck with a Russian-made Kalashnikov RPK machine gun from outside was the perfect accompaniment to hell.

  Bodies started jumping like marionettes, the already dead ones as well as those newly hit. Before the third bullet had left the chamber, Darryl flung himself to the floorboard between the benches, arms over his head, ignoring the pinch of a longbow against his eyebrow bone as well as the fresh burning sensation from the knife in his thigh. Now was a great time to thank the Hunters for their attention to detail. The floor wasn’t solid. Rust had eaten several holes through the metal right beside his face. That gave Darryl breathing holes while shrapnel rained onto him.

  And then everything went silent. Suddenly and eerily and completely.

  Chapter Ten

  “Stop shooting, Ethelstone! Stop! Are you mad?”

  “No. Just loving this gun. Look. I drew a picture for you.”

  “A Celtic circle? Anyone can do that.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’ll have you know it was not easy, even with armor-piercing bullets. But it is fun. You have to admit the U.S.S.R really knows how to craft a machine gun.”

  Darryl craned his neck and glanced up. Yep. Light was coming through holes in the trucks sides that definitely resembled an interlocking Celtic symbol. He looked back to his air hole. That glance cancelled one of his earlier theories, too. The place wasn’t dark.

  “You mean, they knew. Sometimes I cannot believe we are brothers. That’s an archaic weapon from a dead country.”

  “Like I can keep up with who is making borders and taking countries, and naming territories. Happens too often. Every other century, I think.”

  “Come on. I’d rather see how we did with our spears.”

  The handle at the back twisted down. One of the bodies lying near Darryl groaned. That was probably Geoff, or the guy who’d been next to him. Darryl’s shove that started this melee just might have spared their lives. He didn’t look to verify. He didn’t care.

  “Wait! You hear that?”

  “Oh…balls. You don’t think Reika’s mate was in there, do you? No. He couldn’t have been. The Hunters wouldn’t bring him in such a truck. Look how easy it was to take. You don’t think he was in there, do you?”

  “She’ll skin us.”

  “What do you mean us? I don’t have the RPK.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you threw a spear, same as me. No getting out of that.”

  “That was a good toss, too, wasn’t it? I’m sure mine was faster. Hit harder. Did more damage.”

  “No way. Your arm is puny compared to mine.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Well. Come on then. We might as well find out. Before she gets here.”

  “You really think he was in there?”

  “Probably.”

  “You think he still…lives?”

  “Would Reika choose a man weak enough to die in a truck full of Hunters?”

  “What about the hail of bullets?”

  “Would our Reika choose a man incapable of ducking from a few bullets?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Good point.”

  “I wonder how many we got?”

  The truck door opened. Somebody tumbled out. He was still living as evidenced by the cry as he landed.

  “Are you Reika’s mate?”

  “Screw…you.”

  “Ah. I am in luck! It’s a Hunter. Injured, but still breathing. Fresh blood. You carry on, Athlerod. I’m going to be…a bit busy.”

  “No way. This is not my doing. Help me find Reika’s mate, and then we’ll both partake.”

  Darryl kept his nose to the breathing hole, his mind empty. He didn’t want to see or know. It was bad enough he might actually have to come to terms with loving a vampire, without having to watch them feed. He shuddered in revulsion. Or maybe it was blood loss. He should probably get a tourniquet in place on his upper thigh. Pull Charlie’s knife out. See for himself how quickly a partially turned vampire healed.

  “Oh…shit. Look. I sure hope he’s not in there.”

  “Afraid so. Look how many Hunters there were. They only travel with this many when they’re protecting something of value. And just look at the carnage. Impressive.”

  “Those are not bullet wounds.”

  “Looks more like…blade work. You sure Reika isn’t here yet?”

  “We should’ve waited.”

  “And let them get him strapped into one of the sanctified wood holding pens? Bound with chains strewn with icons? Where are your wits?”

  “Hey! Look! We both win!”

  “What? Where?”

  “Looks like our spears both hit. Although…yours seems to have taken out a small Hunter. That means I win. Come on.”

  A body got plucked from the truck, tossed out where it thudded on a floor surface that didn’t sound like dirt. Sounded more like concrete.

  “Never. Mine hit harder. Look. He might be small, but he was hit harder. My body is almost cleaved through.”

  “Rasshol.”

  “Pokker.”

  “You call me a devil? You Haestpeis.”

  “Horse penis? Why, for that, I’ll take you down! On your back. Legs. Now.”

  “You could never win at wrestling me, Brother. I don’t know why…you keep…trying!”

  Sounds of what could actually be two men wrestling and grunting came next. Darryl pushed to his knees and crawled toward the door. Once there, he slid out to his waist, bent to grab a bar beneath the door and rolled out, landing on his butt and jarring his wound. A quick glance showed a small bit of seepage around the knife hilt. There wasn’t much. Removing the knife was going to be messy. But it didn’t hurt like it should.

  The Hunter who’d fallen out first looked over at him, and then collapsed back onto what was definitely concrete. They were in a sizeable bunker. At least one tunnel branched out from it. Darryl spun in a slow circle on his butt, checking the surroundings, locating two, extremely large men, grappling and struggling with their legs locked. They looked evenly matched. Darryl narrowed his eyes. Heck. They looked identical.

  “Yo. Guys.”

  He hailed them and watched the wrestling bout come to an instant halt. Legs got unlocked and both men were on their feet and approaching, looking even larger as they stood looking down at him. And pretty lethal.

  “Ooh. Look, Ethelrod. Another one.”

  “Give me your belt,” Darryl said.

  “Who?”

  “Either. Doesn’t matter.”

  “Why should we?”

  They said it in unison. That was funny.

  “Because I’m going to get up and take it if you don’t.”

  “You’re Reika’s mate, aren’t you?”

  “What do you think?”

  One of them nudged the other. “You see? I told you he was in there.”

  “Belt, Gentlemen?”

  “You d
o all the knife work in there?”

  “Pretty much. Why?”

  One of them whistled. The other looked back into the truck.

  “Looks like she chose well. I’m not getting between you two. Ethel?”

  “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it, Pokker.”

  One of them smacked the other in the shoulder. It wasn’t possible to tell them apart. Maybe when he knew them better. They were even dressed alike. Black leather pants, scuffed with the dust off the floor. Black shirts. Black leather jackets. They’d be great additions to any motorcycle gang.

  One of them pulled a long strip of rawhide from somewhere. Tossed it. Darryl caught it easily, had it looped about his leg and tied off, and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Don’t watch this,” he told them.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the first guy that touches me, loses his head.”

  “Damn. He even sounds like Reika.”

  Darryl yanked out the knife. Blood gushed almost immediately. He slapped a hand to it and pressed. And watched it stop within seconds. Any pain muted and disappeared almost as rapidly. Dang. This vampire stuff had a pretty large upside to it. If he could get around the biting and sucking blood part. He turned a blind eye and ear to what was happening right next to him with the injured Hunter as the two biker-looking guys fed. Or whatever they did.

  Sounds of a motorized craft invaded next, coming toward them with caution more than speed. Sounded like a 3.0L bi-turbo diesel. In perfect working order. Darryl got to his knees, and then gained his feet, dusting his hands off on the sides of his trousers. He looked pretty rough. Blood, dirt, and motor oil splattered his jacket, worn without a shirt. His slacks had taken a beating, too. He had a rip in one knee, and blood stained the hole where he’d been knifed. Beneath it was knitting skin. He checked, lifting the leg for visual verification. Yep. Nothing but pink flesh. Didn’t even look like he’d scar. Another upside to this vampire thing.

  “It’s probably Reika.”

  One of the twins got to his feet beside Darryl, looking him in the eye. The other joined them. Nice to know he was the same height. He still couldn’t tell them apart, though. And both looked difficult to take down in a bout. Either outweighed him by about forty pounds. Maybe more.

  “Shit.”

  “So, what’s the problem, guys? It’s Reika. What of it?”

  “She’s going to be pissed at us.”

  “Why? Looks to me like you accomplished a fine rescue.”

  “You’re not going to tell on us?”

  They were afraid of a little thing like Reika? His Reika? That was interesting. Darryl had to smile. He couldn’t help it. “About what?”

  “Uh…the machine gun.”

  Darryl swiveled to look over the truck. They did the same maneuver at his sides. He felt like a thin novel situated between large bookends. Weird. He’d never been around such large guys. And never two that were virtually identical. There was no way these guys could be covert. Size alone was trouble. Got you noticed. Having two, sizeable guys would gain notice anywhere they went.

  “Name’s Darryl, by the way.” He said. “Darryl Bailes.”

  “Athelrod.”

  The guy on his left spoke, although it didn’t matter. Darryl still wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. They needed to wear different colored shirts or something.

  “That other guy is Ethelstone.”

  “Scandinavian?”

  “Icelandic. Ninth Century.”

  “Wow. You guys have been around.” Darryl folded his arms and tipped his head slightly.

  “So? Are you going to rat us out or not?”

  That was Ethelstone. Darryl might be able to identify them from their personalities. That’s probably how everyone else did it.

  “What for? That looks like a pretty good rendering of a Celtic cross. Impressive. Especially when done with an RPK.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. Really. Couldn’t have done better myself. Although…mind you. I’ve never tried. Blades are my specialty.”

  They both slapped him at the same time, sending him one step forward with the blow. And that’s why the arrow aimed for him brushed his neck rather than stabbed into it. It was followed by a round of ammo. All aimed at him. Darryl hit the floor; the twins right behind him. They should’ve cracked cement with the force. A second later, he’d scrambled beneath the truck, protected by a tire. While Athelrod and Ethelstone shimmed into the space beneath the axle.

  “Let me guess,” Darryl said in his best deadpan voice. “You didn’t take out the guys in the cab.”

  “There were guys in the cab?”

  “There are always guys in the cab. Geez, Ethel. Somebody had to drive.”

  “Don’t blame me. You didn’t think of them either.”

  “Haestpeis”

  “Rasshol.”

  “Pokker.”

  “Guys. Guys. Stop. I’ve heard this part already. Blaming doesn’t do much except get people killed. And vampires. Action gets results. Anybody got a means to alert Reika? That would be helpful.”

  “You have the cell, Athel?”

  “Don’t call me that. It makes me sound like an asshole.”

  The other one snickered. Darryl rolled his eyes. A spray of bullets hit the ground near his elbow, making a perfect line about eight inches long. Flecks of concrete dust lifted with each hit. He knew why they targeted him. He wasn’t turned.

  “Then don’t call me Ethel. It makes me sound like a girl.”

  “For the love of—! Give it a rest, guys. You got a cell or not?” Darryl asked.

  One of them fished the slimmest phone Darryl had ever seen from somewhere in his inner jacket. He slid the cover up with a thumb. He handed it to Darryl.

  “What’s her number?”

  “Pre-coded. Just hit anything.”

  Another spray of bullets came at him, lining up exactly with the previous holes. He had to hand it to the Hunters. They were expert shots. And he was pinned down.

  The phone rang in his ear.

  “I kind-a feel sorry for them,” Ethelstone said.

  “No way. Why?” the other asked.

  “They haven’t seen Reika when she’s pissed.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  And then his Reika answered.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dead silence answered her. Then a spattering of firepower that matched the sounds coming through the tunnel.

  “Hello? Athelrod?”

  “Uh…hi. It’s me. Darryl.”

  Reika’s newly awakened heart swooped, and then swelled, the impact sending thrill after thrill through her. She had no idea just a voice could trigger such a response. Maybe none of the other assassins knew it, either.

  “You there, Darling?”

  Reika’s eyes misted over at what he called her. Her voice wasn’t going to work.

  “Shit. Reika!”

  A hissing sound filled the speaker following Darryl’s cry.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Tire just got hit. Deflated. These guys are good.”

  “Where are the twins?”

  “Flat on their bellies under the truck.”

  “They are?”

  “Don’t knock it. So am I. We’re taking fire.”

  “Why didn’t they wait for me?”

  “Long story. You in the tunnel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Watch for them. We’ve got at least three. And one is one hell of a sharp-shooter. Ouch. You bastard!”

  “What?” Panic colored the word. She didn’t know that happened, either.

  “Bullet graze. Right ear. Smarts, but nothing serious.”

  “Why didn’t they take out the lights before starting anything?”

  Dead silence answered her, interspersed with gunfire.

  “Darryl? Darryl!” Reika’s voice rose.

  “Oh. Sorry about that, Love. I was just taken aback.”

  “Wh…at?” The word was sp
lit in two, because of what he just called her. Another endearment, only this one had an even broader effect on her.

  “No wonder everyone’s in awe of you. Killing the lights. Damn. That’s so frickin’ brilliant. Why didn’t you think about that, guys? Never mind. I don’t need the argument. Have you heard these guys argue yet, Sweetheart?”

  Another endearment. Her throat was closing off.

  “I mean, honestly. Nobody wins, yet they still do it. Oh…shit!”

  “What?”

  “The Hunters split up. I’ve got two positions with incoming fire!”

  “Good bye, Darryl.”

  “What?”

  “EMP incoming.”

  “EMP? Honey, you are—.”

  His words ended. His phone went dead. Reika’s heart stopped. Literally. There was a lull of two beats before it started again. Please let Darryl be okay. Please…

  “Roger, stop.”

  Roger had met her at the airfield with this gray late model SUV. He was dark-haired. Pale-skinned. Lean. Disguised that with an old, military, drab-olive trench coat with lots of inner pockets. Appeared to handle most weapons with skill and dexterity. Had a working knowledge of most Slav languages and customs. And he impressed Akron with his electronic knowledge and skill. They’d recruited him from the Czech Underground, whoever they were. Roger was a great addition in the field, especially the old Soviet Bloc countries, and he obeyed orders instantly, without question. The moment she’d ordered it, he slammed on the brakes, killed the engine leaving the keys in the ignition. One hand slapped off the headlights while the other hit the Dead Man switch, cancelling battery activity. That way they’d still have vehicle power when they needed it.

  “We bring an Electro-Magnetic Pulse generator?” she asked.

  “Three of them.”

  He reached through the seat gap and yanked a box the size of an old video recording camera from his duffle bag before shoving out his door. Reika didn’t bother with hers. She skimmed out the window and hovered, waiting. Roger’s mouth opened. She’d forgotten. He was a newer member of the Vampire Assassin League.