Raleigh followed her gaze. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” she said.
Caxton had just one chance. Raleigh didn’t know that she’d upgraded her weapon—she couldn’t know that Caxton was loading Teflon bullets that might, just might, penetrate the trauma plate. If Caxton could get closer to the gun, if she could just reach it—
She started crawling toward the gun with infinitesimal slowness, using her hands and her legs to scoot along the floor.
Raleigh had a radio on her belt that she lifted to her mouth. “Daddy, she’s here. She came just like you said she would.” Raleigh stared down at Caxton with a disdainful smile, then went on, “I got her inside just fine, and I’ve disarmed her. Just like we talked about.”
The radio spat and popped with static, but Caxton could hear Jameson calling from someplace else in the mine. “Don’t take any chances. Empty her weapon and then bring her to me.” There was a pause, then Jameson said, “There will be fifteen bullets in the gun, and maybe one in the chamber. Get them all.”
Raleigh took two long steps across the room and picked up the weapon. Caxton stopped moving.
The vampire turned the gun over and over in her hands. She found the safety and slipped it off. Then, holding the gun straight out from her shoulder, she pointed it down at Caxton’s face. It was a lousy firing stance, but at that range it wouldn’t matter. “Bang bang,” Raleigh said, with a little laugh.
“You could have killed me before this,” Caxton said, trying not to look down the dark barrel in front of her. “You’re saving me for some reason.”
“For Simon. When he accepts the curse, when he’s one of us, you’re going to be his first victim. Daddy and I have already fed.” Raleigh lifted the weapon a few inches and fired a shot straight over Caxton’s head. The noise of the shot made them both cringe as it echoed around and around the room, amplified by the close, hard walls. Raleigh made a face, her wicked teeth protruding from her pale lips, but then she fired again, and again, aiming just shy of hitting Caxton each time. The precious bullets pranged off the rock floor and ricocheted around the room, bouncing and clattering wildly, but unfortunately none of them went so far astray as to bounce back up and hit Raleigh. One did cut through the sleeve of Caxton’s shirt. She didn’t dare look, but she thought it had just missed breaking her skin. She pulled her arms in close to her body and tried not to flinch too much.
As Raleigh fired she counted out loud, but the words were lost until she stopped and said, “Sixteen.” Caxton’s ears were still ringing as the vampire blew on the gun’s hot barrel, then shoved it, the safety still off, into one of the straps of her vest. “Now get up, and let’s go.”
56.
Caxton went first, prodded on occasionally by Raleigh, who kept close behind, walking forward down a corridor lined with electric lights. Jameson must have strung up those lights himself—normally coal mines were left dark except for the lights on the miners’ helmets and their equipment. Here and there side galleries led away from the main hall, and these had been left dark—silent, empty channels carved through the rock where the only sound was made by dust falling and rocks settling. Once those halls would have echoed with clamor and activity as miners pushed a giant longwall cutter down the face, grinding out coal by the ton. Now it was as silent as the tomb it had become.
Or perhaps not quite silent. Caxton had little to do as she walked but look around her and strain her ears to pick up subtle sounds. It didn’t take long to notice a faint but deep roaring sound coming from deeper in the mine. Somewhere down these passages, through a series of left and right turns, the fire lay, blazing and raging as it had for so many years.
The sound was not the only evidence. She started to see wisps of smoke playing about the ceiling, braids of pale vapor that grew thicker and more agitated as she progressed. The peculiar smell of carbon monoxide came to her at first just slightly, but with increasing intensity. She’d smelled it plenty of times as a kid. She tried to think what it smelled like, but as always before she drew a blank. It wasn’t the smell of a campfire, thick with resin and wood smells. It wasn’t the smell of a candle flame, either; there was no tang of paraffin there. It was more like an un-smell, an absence of smells. It smelled like a blanket covering her face, preventing her from breathing. It smelled like suffocation.
They’d been walking maybe a quarter of a mile when she started to cough. Involuntary little spasms of her throat at first, tiny eruptions that soon graduated to full-scale convulsions. She pressed her balled-up fist against her mouth to try to hold them in, but that just made her chest heave all the harder.
Last she noticed the heat, and in many ways that was the worst of it. It had been a crisp winter night above the surface. Down here a dry heat warmed her body, making her sweat down the collar of her winter coat. Her armpits grew moist, and then her chest. Rivulets of sweat coursed down her body. A crystal droplet formed at the end of her nose and she had to keep wiping it away. The heat pressed against her face as if she’d opened the door of a furnace to peer inside.
She started to take off her coat—and then Raleigh was on her, one arm wrapped around her neck and crushing her windpipe. Caxton tried to go limp, but the vampire held her rigid and lifted her slightly until only the toes of her boots touched the floor. Then Raleigh threw her down, a discarded doll, and Caxton fell hard against her side. She couldn’t breathe; she sucked at the air, but it choked her before it got halfway down her throat. She tried to talk, to explain, but the words couldn’t form. Her hands reached up and tore at the collar of her shirt, trying desperately to loosen it. Weakness overcame her, though—her body refused to move the way she wanted it to, as every fiber of her strength was directed toward her lungs, her body’s need for air paramount.
Down on the floor the air was a little cleaner. Slowly, with painful jagged inhalations, she fed her cells the oxygen they needed. The sweat that bathed her face caught a puff of breeze and cooled her down. “I just,” she said, the words like switchblades opening in her throat, “just want—to take off my coat.”
Raleigh stared down at her sharply, then nodded.
Caxton struggled out of the garment, slipping off her backpack in the process. She had a portable air supply in the pack, as well as clothing to protect her from the heat. She started to open it up, but Raleigh kicked it out of her hands and back down the hall, the way they’d come.
“I’ve heard how tricky you can be,” the vampire said, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe you have another gun in there.”
If only. Caxton bent her head and started to ball up her coat, intending to carry it under her arm. Raleigh grabbed it away from her and threw it after the pack.
“You won’t need that anymore,” Raleigh said.
Caxton understood what Raleigh meant. She wouldn’t be leaving the mine, at least not alive. She would never feel cold again.
Slowly Caxton rose to her feet. She kept her hands where Raleigh could see them, and when she was standing she lifted them above her head. Raleigh nodded her acceptance and then spun Caxton around and sent her down the hallway again, toward their destination.
Ahead the corridor widened and grew more regular, as if it had been more carefully carved. Caxton thought they’d come maybe half a mile from the bootleg mine entrance, though it was next to impossible to accurately judge distances in a long, almost featureless hallway. It wasn’t much farther on that the corridor ended in a broad junction where many corridors intersected, creating a room considerably larger than the one where Raleigh had discharged the Beretta. The same style of lights illuminated the room, but they were set farther apart and the chamber was gloomy and dim. Wherever the lights blazed they shed cones of pale yellow light down toward the floor, cones that were sharply defined by the swirling smoke in the air.
There was not a lot of furniture in the room. There were four coffins set up along one wall like a miniature crypt. One coffin had to be for Jameson, a second for Raleigh. The third must hold the remains of Justini
a Malvern, though why it was closed Caxton didn’t know. Maybe Jameson didn’t like looking at her all night, considering her condition. She would be a constant reminder of his own vulnerabilities, of the fact that while he might live forever, he wouldn’t stop aging. Caxton wondered how Malvern felt about being stored there like a broom in a closet.
The fourth coffin’s lid stood wide open and Caxton saw that it was empty. That one was probably meant for Simon, she decided. The boy himself was chained to a timber that held up the ceiling. He did not look conscious. Near him, where he could keep an eye on his son, Jameson sat on a weird-looking chair. Jameson was wearing his ballistic vest and a pair of black jeans, but no shoes. His feet were dark with coal dust, but his face was glaring white. He rose as Caxton walked into the room and she saw that his chair was made of human bones held together with thick twists of baling wire. Mostly pelvises and skulls, with femurs for its legs. Classic vampire design.
Five half-deads stood in poses of attention around the edges of the room, as if they guarded the corridors leading away from it. Their torn faces were lowered and their hands were folded in front of them. Caxton had never seen half-deads who looked so disciplined or orderly—normally they formed cackling anarchic mobs. The only thing that motivated half-deads to behave themselves was fear. Jameson must have taught them some pretty strong lessons.
Caxton stumbled forward into the room, choking. The smoke was thick in her mouth and in her lungs, and the heat had gone from tropical to infernal. She felt like she was made of molten, sagging lead. It was all she could do not to fall down on her knees and give up.
“Nothing to say, Trooper?” Jameson asked, smiling down at her. He moved closer to her, almost close enough to touch. But not quite. Even at her strongest Caxton would have been no match for him physically—and bare-handed she couldn’t even scratch his skin, especially after he’d fed. He wasn’t taking any chances, though. He never had while he was alive. Now he seemed downright paranoid.
She shook her head and just tried to breathe. This is it, she thought. She had faced death so many times since she’d first met Jameson that she had thought she’d grown immune to the fear. It was suddenly back, more intense than she’d ever felt it before. She was about to die and there was nothing she could do about it.
Something in her refused to give up, though. A part of her brain that kept looking for angles, for opportunities. It came up with very little, but it kept trying. It suggested something to her and she considered the option carefully. Then she took in a long, shallow breath and spoke.
“You win,” she said.
Jameson studied her with his eyes. “This isn’t a competition,” he said. “It’s the natural order. My daughter and I are predators. You and your kind are prey, that’s all. To survive, we must feed on your blood. I know from your perspective that must look dreadful, but if you could see beyond your own mortality, you would understand. Just as I have come to understand.”
Caxton smiled despite herself. “Natural order,” she said. “That’s interesting.” She broke down in a coughing fit, but he waited patiently for her to finish. “You were the one who taught me that vampires are anything but natural. That they’re evil, true evil. I think those were your exact words.”
“I’ve had time to broaden my view,” he said. “Alright.” He turned to face one of the half-deads. “You, get some more chain. The rest of you, help him secure her to a timber.” He turned to Caxton again. “You’re about to pass out, Trooper. There’s not enough oxygen down here to keep you awake. I’ll try to make your death painless—I owe you that much. After all, if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have ever come this far.”
Caxton’s eyes went wide. He was right, of course. He had accepted the curse as a way to save her life. If she hadn’t needed his help so badly, he would never have become a vampire. Everything he’d done, everyone he’d killed, all that blood was on her hands. It was what had driven her to desperate tactics, and what had drawn her to Centralia—to find forgiveness for what she’d created. Now that drive for absolution was going to be her death. She thought carefully about what to say next. “You owe me—you said that before. That you owe me a great deal and you intend to pay me in full.”
“And so I have. I had plenty of chances to kill you before now, and plenty of reasons to do so. I held back for your sake. Honestly, if you hadn’t come here tonight, if you’d been smart enough to know when you were beaten, you could have lived. But now you’ve found my lair. You’ve threatened my family with violence. I think that wipes the slate clean. I’m going to save you just long enough to give my son a good meal. You’ll have a last chance to be useful. It’s the most noble death I can think of.”
She didn’t look him in the eye when she asked, “How about a last request?”
“Fair enough,” he answered after a long pause. “I’m not unreasonable,” he told her. “I’m not, no matter how many times your girlfriend said it, an asshole.”
She looked at him squarely. “You killed your own wife and your brother because you had to, to stay alive. You knew you couldn’t survive on your own. So you went after everyone you ever loved, maybe everyone you thought you could stand being around for eternity. You got Raleigh, and I don’t doubt you’ll convince Simon.”
“Yes,” Jameson said.
“I never asked you to like me,” Caxton said. “I don’t think you ever did. Maybe you respected me, just a little. Grudgingly. But Jameson, I don’t want to die.” She closed her eyes and let her body sag. All this talking was making her dizzy and light-headed. She really should be conserving her oxygen. What she was about to say was almost certainly a waste of breath.
“I want to live,” she said, her eyes flashing open. “I want to live forever.”
57.
Jameson stared at her, his red eyes wide. Then he opened his mouth, showing his rows of razor-sharp teeth, and started to laugh.
Caxton couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh while he was alive. Undead, his laughter was a harsh dry rasping sound that echoed off the stone walls.
She expected him to bat her down to the ground with one quick swipe, or maybe tear her apart and drink her blood on the spot. He didn’t. Instead he took a step back and looked her up and down, as if appraising her worthiness. She tried to think of something to add, some compelling argument why she would make a great vampire. She couldn’t think of any.
“No, Daddy,” Raleigh said, rushing past Caxton and nearly knocking her down. The girl tried to embrace Jameson, but he held her off, at arm’s distance. “No,” she said again. “It’s bad enough I have to spend eternity with Simon, but—her?”
Jameson looked down at his daughter. He hadn’t noticed what had happened when Raleigh ran past Caxton. Raleigh had been too upset to notice, herself. If the half-deads saw, they were too disciplined to say anything.
Caxton’s Beretta had still been sticking out of the side of Raleigh’s ballistic vest, where she’d shoved it after firing off sixteen rounds. Caxton was a little surprised it hadn’t fallen out on the walk to the crypt. As weak and breathless as Caxton was, it had been easy enough to grab the pistol’s grip as Raleigh moved past her and draw it from its makeshift holster.
“It can just be you and me,” Raleigh sighed. “Forever. Why share our blood with her? Why—when she’s tried to kill you so many times? She would have burned me alive back there, at the police station.”
Caxton wasted a fraction of a second checking the safety. It was already off, because Raleigh had thought the gun was useless. It almost was. Caxton lifted the pistol two-handed and drew a bead on Jameson’s trauma plate. She hesitated for another fraction of a second. She wasn’t sure if the bullets would actually penetrate the steel plate, and she would get only one chance.
Raleigh, on the other hand, had her back turned to Caxton. There was no trauma plate on the back of her vest.
Caxton’s life was going to last just as long as it took one vampire or another to notice what she was doing
. She didn’t have time to consider her next move, other than to think that leaving the world with one less vampire in it would be a good legacy. She steadied herself, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger.
Jameson and Raleigh both screamed in surprise and rage. Raleigh’s arms went around her father’s neck and she slumped across his chest in the same instant that a hole blew open in the back of her vest, just between her spine and her left scapula. White vapor hissed out of the wound, spraying tiny fragments of Twaron fiber and splinters of bone.
She slid down her father’s body, collapsing in a heap on the floor. Her eyes were wide open and her hands were clawing at the air. Her whole body started to shake so badly that it was difficult for Caxton to see that her trauma plate was bowed out from the inside. The Teflon bullet had passed right through her body and nearly made it through the plate as well.
Jameson stared down at his own chest. His own vest had a dent in its nylon cover—but on the right side, where it could do him no harm. He lifted his eyes to meet Caxton’s, his mouth already opening in a hiss of anger. She felt his mind rushing at her, through her own eyes, like a runaway train hurtling into a tunnel, but she had already reached for the amulet around her neck. It grew scorching hot in her hand and then he was gone, receding from her, his psychic attack thwarted before it could begin.
He reeled back as if he’d been slapped.
Caxton took the moment of surprise and horror to move back, toward the mouth of the corridor behind her, stumbling backward, unwilling to look away from Jameson’s face. She stopped suddenly when he drew himself back up to his full height and stomped toward her. She raised the Beretta and pointed it at his heart.
“She unloaded that gun,” he howled. “I heard her discharge it!”
“New model,” she said, trying to stay calm. “Larger magazine capacity.”
Vampire Zero: A Gruesome Vampire Tale Page 29