Boston Under Siege (Book 1): Virus:

by Willson, Fisher

  “Yeah, well, about that. I can't come. He is. He got the cage people out, incidentally. Sorry, I can't come. Army dudes invaded HQ and have me pow-wowing with the Colonel. That’s a trip. Err, no pun intended. I’ll see what I can do from here.”

  “Aye, okay,” Trips rasped.

  “Um, so what's with Sandy?”

  “Huh? I don't know.”

  “You were, like, talking in your sleep. Ya' know, you and her ——”

  “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago,” Trips said, breaking into a coughing jag. Tears ran down his face, and strands of blood spittle hung from his beard.

  “You okay, dude?”

  Trips spat and hissed a hollow laugh. “I'm dyin'...”

  “Hang on, dude,” Ichiro said. Trips' phone played light jazz hold music. “They're there.”

  “There there? Who are you, motherfucking Teresa?”

  “No douche, the guys are on site.”

  “Tell 'em to find Ami.” Trips fell into a stupor.

  “Dude?” Ichiro reported to Dewey that Trips was worse than he thought.

  * * *

  The dungeon door opened and Trips groaned, lifting his head to see a feminine silhouette. The door closed; then a small light descended the steps. He watched and listened to the click of the woman’s heels on stone. “Trips? Trips, you awake?”

  The woman rustled past the ostentatious furniture, up to his platform against the wall. He wracked his foggy brain, trying to place the voice. He cleared his throat as she ascended the staircase toward him. “Sandy? That you?”

  “Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd take it this far.” The blue light from her phone made her pallor a ghastly shade of gray. Her posture changed, and Trips heard something metal clang to the floor.

  Trips rattled his chains gently. “It's not your fault. Can you get me down, darlin’?”

  Sandy tucked the phone into the front of her shirt, dimming the light. She fed him a sip of water. “He's using her.”

  Trips nodded and coughed. “Yeah, I got that.”

  “I have to...” Sandy stopped mid-sentence and turned around listening. She turned back toward Trips, her voice softer. “You have to get her.”

  Trips whispered, leaning forward, trying to reassure Sandy. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to.”

  Sandy examined his face and glanced at the spreading bloodstain on his side. “God, you're wounded wicked bad.”

  “Yeah.” Trips smiled and shot a glance at his wrist. “Can you get me down, please?”

  “Just a sec.” Sandy pulled keys from her trousers pocket. “I think I got all of your stuff. That sword is redonkulous.” She found the right key and unlocked his manacles, then bent down to unlock his fetters.

  “Thanks, Sandy.” Trips rubbed his wrists. “You’re awesome.”

  She stood up. Trips stumbled, disoriented. “I'm so tired.” He tried to take another step and almost fell over.

  Sandy caught him under his arms and propped him up with her shoulder. “Lean on me.” Trips put his arm over her shoulders. “God, oh, Trips,” Sandy pulled Trips into a kiss, consuming the blood from his mouth. Trips gave in, too weary to struggle. Finally, she pulled away, both of them breathing hard. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.”

  “S'okay.” Trips smiled. “I know.”

  “Trips, he’s found a way to isolate the change. He's trying to augment his structure by harvesting Ami's blood.” Sandy wiped the blood from the corner of Trips' mouth with her pinky. “I'm sorry I got carried away. You just have no idea how tantalizing...” She licked her finger and stared at his mouth.

  He pressed his palm on her décolletage forcing her back. “I think I might. Stay away from me, ok?” He smiled, his teeth scummed with blood. He hissed a hollow laugh. “Deal?”

  Sandy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, okay. I'll try.”

  “Don't try. Do,” Trips said in a strangled Yoda voice. Sandy tittered. “Always liked your laugh, Sandy.” Trips tried to inhale and broke into a coughing fit. He bent over with one hand holding his side, the other on his knees.

  “C'mon, this way.” Sandy hoisted Trips’ bag and sword over one shoulder, and he leaned on her as she led him down the steps to the wall under the staircase. She strapped the messenger bag and sword across his chest. “You have to crawl down the tunnel to the sluice gate. It'll take you to the bottom of Tower Hill. Best I can do.” Sandy opened the iron gate and a trickle of rainwater poured onto the floor. “I'm not going with you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “He'll notice if I'm gone too long. Just keep going straight. And, I’m sorry, Trips, but I don’t have a light for you.”

  Trips sat down in the drainpipe. He sighed, snatching her phone. “Give me your phone. C’mon, can't you see in the dark?”

  Sandy frowned and shook her head, looking at him quizzically. “No.”

  “Oh. I thought vampires could see in the dark.”

  “Nope,” Sandy said, prying her phone from his fingers, “and I’m not giving you my phone.”

  “Oh. Okay, then.” Trips turned around with difficulty; he pointed into the pipe on his hands and knees, head first, and then glanced back over his shoulder. “Thanks, Sandy. Hey, Sandy, just curious, but what happened with you and Paul, the sound guy?”

  “I don't know,” she shrugged, looking down at the phone, “Just didn't work out. Kinda like you and me.” She searched Trips eyes and glanced down at his mouth. “You love her, doncha, Trips?”

  He studied her for a moment, then smiled, wiping at his mouth. “Birdy, you're the best.” Grunting, he crawled into the tube, and Sandy closed the gate behind him.

  Chapter 37: Operation Kentigern Rescue

  Senator Edwin Kentigern followed his escort from the armored land cruiser into the offices of Special Ops Command in Boston. He whipped off his sunglasses revealing bloodshot blue eyes and searched the room full of people bent over computers. Colonel Daniel Campbell was heading straight toward him. “What's the word, Danny?”

  “We've got his location, Ed. They're making an assessment,” Campbell said, putting a heavy hand on the senator’s shoulder as he steered him out of the situation room and down the hall into an empty well-appointed office that looked out over Faneuil Hall. “We're just waiting for 'go'.”

  The senator dropped his sunglasses on the table and gazed out the window at the historic spot where Sam Adams and others raised the battle cry to end tyranny, tea-tax, and slavery. The brick plaza is known as the “Cradle of Liberty,” but the senator wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of recalling the history he knew so well as he collapsed into a chair with his head in his hands. “He's okay, right, Danny? What are they accessing?”

  The colonel nodded and leaned on the conference table next to the senator. “We've located his phone.” Campbell cleared his throat. “It was there for several hours, then it vanished.”

  Kentigern looked up at Campbell. “His phone? What? What does that mean?”

  Campbell continued patiently. “It was at Mount Auburn Cemetery for a long spell, but it isn’t clear if he’s still there.”

  “Well go see, if he is, pick him up! That's the hot zone!” Senator Kentigern gripped the edge of the table. “Why the hell would he go to a cemetery?”

  Colonel Campbell nodded. “Well, that’s what we aim to find out, isn’t it? He’s been in enemy territory for better than seventy-two hours by his lonesome according to reports, but we’re going to correct that. Don’t worry. Word’s supposed to come down real soon. We have everything in place.” He needed to calm the senator down. He sat back changing the subject. “Ichiro Kai, you know him?”

  The senator combed his fingers through his hair. “Yes.” He sniffed and leaned back in his chair. “That's his roommate.”

  Campbell nodded. “He's a smart kid. He's got us hooked into a program of his own design,” he raised a finger to emphasize his point, “that distinguishes body signatures. It’s quite a piece of work.”

  Trips’ father sat forward, his brows knit togeth
er in confusion. “What?”

  Dan glanced from the senator to his phone screen and back. “His software tells us whether we're looking at a zombie, a vampire or a human.” Colonel Campbell stood up. “Let’s get you some breakfast. When’s the last time you ate?” He picked up the rotary-dial telephone receiver and punched in a number, and smiled. “Real smart kid. I’m going to recommend him to the folks at DARPA. Okay? Now, stay cool. Situation is A-Okay.”

  Chapter 38: Friends With Benefits

  Snake and Dewey hauled Trips out of the tunnel through the sluice gate then Dewey staunched Trips’ bleeding with a mineral combat sponge and used antiseptic pads covered by almost a full roll of duct tape around Trips’ ribs to cover the wound. It wasn’t great, but it seemed to be doing the trick. Trips could stand and he was raring to go after several bottles of water and a shot of ketamine. He nodded at Dewey and Snake as he wound down the stairs to the last level of the cemetery undercroft. “She’s down here. I’ll show you.”

  Dewey and Snake padded softly after him. Dewey snatched at Trips’ arm. “We’ve got to think this through. Seriously, man, hold your horses.”

  Trips smiled, his focus unsteady swallowing the blood scumming his teeth. “That’s funny, after giving me that horse tranc. No way, I’m going in with you. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” he yodeled, as he led them to the door where he had last seen Ami. Fishing in his pocket for the loose lock picks, he realized they were gone. He checked his bag, but couldn’t find them. “Shit. Sandy gave me back a lot of my stuff, but we can’t get in. I don’t have the lock picks.”

  “Just chill, and let me take a look.” Dewey examined the room through his helmet radar tracing a line on the wall as he headed deeper into the undercroft. “Goes to here,” he said, pointing at a spot where the walls of the room ended. He headed back toward the door. “Nothing lurking. No life signs at all, no zombies, vampires.” He shrugged. “Nothin'. You think they moved her?”

  “She's in there!” Trips hissed, getting ready to ram the door.

  “You can’t break down the door by ramming it with your shoulder. Leave it to me.” Dewey pulled back on his axe and smashed the pick into the lock then kicked the door open.

  “Gives a new meaning to picking a lock,” Snake said.

  Dewey’s headlamps lit the cavernous room in pale light revealing a carved oak balustrade atop a granite block balcony with steps leading down into an ornately furnished room. “I’m getting ambient temperature, various chemical compounds, and accelerants, but no life signs other than our own, Trips.”

  “Smells rank as shit,” Snake said, bounding down the steps. “My nostrils are being assaulted by the putrid odors of rotten meat and vomit. I can taste it. It’s fucking gross.”

  “I think I was over here,” Trips said, trailing along the wall into the room. “It was to my left that I heard--” He trailed off, stepping over body parts. He glanced down the room where more bodies were strewn amongst the wreckage of Louis XIV reproductions. All of the furnishings were smashed, broken and torn apart.

  “Guess somebody was having a nasty party,” Snake said, joining Trips.

  Dewey focused his headlamp into the far left of the room revealing a makeshift hospital area. Ami laid spread-eagle chained to a bed and hooked up to monitors that registered no life signs. Trips inhaled sharply seeing Ami, then doubled up in a coughing fit, spewing blood.

  Snake lay a hand on Trips’ back. “I got you, brother.”

  Dewey crossed to where Ami lay. He looked back over his shoulder. “Trips...”

  Trips wrested himself away from Snake and raced over. They gathered around her bed.

  Trips gingerly straightened her ruined shirt and stroked the hair and uncovered her eyes. She was cold, and Dewey’s lamp made her lips look pale lavender. Trips swiped his knuckles across his bloody mouth, trembling.

  Dewey took off his gloves and pressed the carotid artery in Ami’s neck. He laid a hand on Trips shoulder. “No life signs.”

  “She's not dead!” Trips said, pulling free. His throat tightened as he cradled her face. “Ami it's me. It's okay baby. We're getting you out of here.” He kissed her pale purple lips.

  “Dude...” Dewey said, repulsed, tugging at Trips.

  Trips yanked away from Dewey and kissed Ami again, deeply. He shook her shoulders, cooing into her ear that it was time to wake up, leaving a bright red blood spot on her lips making a striking contrast against her pale skin.

  Dewey pulled at the sheet, trying to put it over Ami’s face. “Dude, don't go all necrophilia on me, huh?”

  Trips turned on him; his throat choked, his face purple, his blue eyes blazing.

  Dewey finished pulling the sheet over her and met Trips’ hateful glare, with his kind large hazel-green eyes. “She ain't gonna wake up, prince charming.”

  “We should go, now!” Snake nodded toward the door into the inner sanctum. “Someone’s coming.”

  The veins on Trips’ neck and forehead stuck out in taut red flesh holding back hot, angry tears. He strained breaking the iron manacles and fetters holding Ami with his bare hands.

  Dewey and Snake exchanged an astonished glance. Snake nodded. “Dude just broke truck-chain.”

  Trips removed Ami’s shroud from her face and lifted her in his arms. He lifted her aloft, then sputtered blood through stuttered sobs and crumpled, back to the bed, cradling her.

  “Let me take her, man,” Snake said, laying a hand on Trips’ shoulder. He darted a glance at the inner sanctum door, and Dewey. “C'mon, Trips, baby, we got to fly.” Trips nodded slowly, choking back sobs. “I'll take good care of her, man.”

  The inner sanctum door cracked opened, and Sandy was silhouetted in the doorway, her long blond hair shining in the dimness. She held more of Trips’ gear in her arms. “He's coming.”

  Snake nodded, lifting Ami as he followed Dewey up the stairs. “C'mon, dude, let's go.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” Trips' head bobbed back and forth, his eyes on Sandy.

  Sandy set Trips' gear on a slab-stone table in the center of the room then adjusted her black leather corset, looking back at the inner sanctum door. “You’ve got to get out of here.”

  He bolted across the room. “Ooo! You! This is your fault!”

  “No, suh!” Sandy snarled, her sharp teeth and burgundy eyes twinkling as she escaped into the shadows. Trips roared, unsheathing his sword and ran after her as she scrambled up to a high ledge out of reach. “Hey, I'm doing you a favor here!”

  Trips broke into grotesque sobs. He limped toward Sandy holding his side, then stood beneath her and cried out, “He'll do the same to you he done to her! He doesn't love you, birdy!”

  Sandy narrowed her eyes, leaning against the wall. “What and you do?”

  Trips clutched his sword. “I never — It wasn't like that!” He doubled over, coughing.

  Sandy laughed cynically. “The gall you have. You just think you're the living end, don't you? You think, like, what? I'll wait in the wings until you get bored with her and then let you have at it again? Huh? Is that it?” Trips threw his sword at her like a javelin. It fell pitifully short, clanking to the ground.

  Sandy climbed up the wall and clung to the ceiling like a spider and darted into the stairwell. “Get out of here, before I change my mind.”

  Chapter 39: Special Forces

  Trips clasped his arm tight against his side as he stumbled through the torn-up baroque furniture strewn with dead bodies. Whatever Dewey did to keep me from feeling my gunshot wound ain’t working any longer.

  He reached the stone table in the center of the room and swept the things Sandy had left for him into his bag. Panting, he cinched the night vision goggles over his eyes. I can’t catch me breath Christ, my lungs are on fire.

  As he inhaled, his body demanded he expel fluids. He retched then rinsed his mouth with the water Alexx had given him. That was days ago, wasn’t it?

  He couldn’t quite remember. All he knew was Am
i was dead, and he only had one thing left to do. He forced himself to his feet. You’re dyin’ Kentigern. “But not here. Not yet.”

  Trips hobbled up the steps. Every movement searing hot agony radiating from his gut. His pulse pounded in his ears as he dragged himself stumbling down the hall. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, glancing up, and breathing shallowly as sweat poured off him. Long way up.

  A vision of Amos preening in his new look flashed in his mind as burning bile and blood rose in his throat. He swallowed it down and gathered his waning strength, hoisting himself up the first step of the climb.

  Images of being suspended by ropes passed through his consciousness as he watched dark drops of his own blood trail over the inlayed rosewood and brass stairs.

  He emerged under the gothic columns and staggered past the medieval wooden door that led to the zombie mosh pit. Another sharp image of Amos came into focus: his silver and ebony cane tracking Ami as they biked to HQ. He spat out the blood and bile bubbling up in his burning esophagus as he rounded the corner into the ossuary. A vision of Amos seducing Sandy with a vial of tainted water, the very water that changed them all, assaulted his mind.

  He rested for a moment in the temple room, gathering up the tee-shirt rope ladder.

  I wish I were stronger. Wish I had more time for what I’m about to do, but I have to do it now, before it’s too late. He breathed in the fetid air and hoisted himself from the Masonic Temple room into the tower. He felt his insides ripping open as an image of Amos' burning red eyes staring down at Ami through the moon-roof of Alexx's car bombarded his brain. Reaching the tower floor, he drew the broadsword with shaking hands. He could barely lift the Claymore, as he stepped out into the sheeting rain on Tower Hill.

  “Amos!” Trips shouted into the gusting rain, his chest heaving. “Amos! Are ye afraid to face me man to man?” He turned, facing the tower. Like gargoyles, vampires clung to the granite wall perched high atop the turrets.

  “Sending your minions to do your dirty work? Well here!” Trips slapped his side, a gush of thick red blood sopped out of the soft spot, trickling into pink rainwater rivulets. The vampires licked their teeth. Trips coughed, blood coating his beard. “Come and get me! You wee pansies!” His voice broke from the strain. “You hear me? You hamshankin' fud! Me own granny could take ya', ya' gaping arse!”