“All right, good.” Maybe I’d give him a low-caliber pistol as a backup in case he lost his staff. But even that thought made me uncomfortable. “As for Olaf and me, we’ll be carrying Rusty’s new babies, MP88 rifles.”
Rusty took his cue and ran to his work bench. The cords in his neck strained as he returned carrying an assembled MP88 and handed it to me with a reverent smile. This was the special delivery he’d been most excited about: Centurion’s latest model, fresh from the factory.
The MP88 was basically a high-caliber automatic assault rifle, grenade launcher, and flame thrower bundled into one, the three deadly barrels emerging from a rugged, full-sealed outer casing. I looked over the empty ports for the magazines and fuel tank, worked the charging handles to gauge their slide, then brought the rifle to my shoulder and looked down the sights at the far wall. Felt good. I handed the weapon to Olaf for him to inspect. He’d used weapons like it while a Centurion soldier, and he appeared comfortable wielding the model now.
“They’re heavy and complicated, which is why I’m limiting their use to just the two of us for now. As for ammo, we’ll be using armor-piercing incendiary rounds. Since we don’t know which class of creature we’re dealing with, every bullet will be laced with powdered silver. It’s deadly to most lycanthropes and hella painful to a lot of the undead out there.”
Silver was lethal to me too, but as long as the weapons would be in our hands versus the enemies’…
“When we make contact, we’re not taking any chances,” I finished. “We’re gonna rip those fuckers up.”
That got an ardent fist pump from Rusty. He was starting to grow on me. What I’d misinterpreted as macho posturing our first day was simply the man’s enthusiasm. He really wanted to be here.
“Go ahead and grab your weapons, then pick up your commo gear,” I said. “We’ve got a lot to cover and not a lot of time.”
As I watched the team move toward the racks of weapons, a knot of concern hardened in my gut—probably made worse by the fact that it was still within my power to call off the mission.
Should I? Shouldn’t I?
Because once I committed, there could be no second-guessing my decision.
In a flash, I saw my childhood friend Billy Young lying in the leaves, his puckered neck wound leaking blood, ashen face peering up at me. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he’d rasped. What if hunters had gotten to those three vampires before they’d found us fishing that morning?
Answer: Billy Young would still be alive.
“Let’s go,” I called to the team. “Clock’s ticking.”
10
As the Centurion attack chopper began its descent toward the soccer fields of El Rosario, I gripped my MP88 and looked out over the moonlit town. Set in a river valley, the town had started as a colonial pueblo. In the center, a large white church presided over an empty plaza and marketplace. A grid of cement and dirt roads lined with simple one- and two-story buildings extended out for several blocks.
I peered around the outskirts of town, where the abductions had occurred. At a little past one in the morning, the streets were desolate. All I spotted were a few stray dogs fleeing the thundering sound of our arrival, several of them running through what looked like an abandoned military outpost on the far side of a river. Ruined buildings clustered around a pot-holed parade ground.
At 2100 the night before, a personnel carrier delivered us and our load to the airstrip at Centurion’s Vegas base. A cargo plane flew us to another Centurion base outside Mexico City. There, we transferred to the helos, taking off with three escorts for the two-hour trip to El Rosario.
The preparations back at the Legion compound had been exhausting, even for someone with my stamina, and I was concerned about the rest of the team. Beside me, Rusty was snoring with his mouth open, head bobbing against Takara’s shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice as she peered out the other side of the helo. Sarah, Olaf, and Yoofi rode in the helo behind us.
I shook Rusty.
“I didn’t steal it!” he blurted as he snorted awake.
“Get ready. We’re about to land.”
Rusty blinked around, then lifted his M4 from between his legs. One of the escorts had already touched down, and soldiers were emerging to establish a security perimeter around our landing site. At the edge of the field, a police cruiser was parked beside a pair of vans. I pointed them out to Rusty so he’d know where we were headed.
When the chopper landed, we disembarked and hunkered in the rotor wash. The other chopper set down behind us. When everyone was out, I led them toward the vans, one a passenger and the other a cargo. Delivered ahead of us, the vans’ plain appearances belied their speed and armored durability.
A man in a khaki uniform and a woman in modern clothes exited the police cruiser as we approached. Though I was wearing my special helmet to hide my face, my seven-foot height drew startled looks from them both. But while the police official shuffled back, the woman stepped forward to meet us.
“You are Legion?” she asked in accented English.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “Podemos hablar en Español si prefiere.”
“No, it’s okay,” the woman replied. “I understand English very well.” The woman was short and stout, no more than five feet tall. Though the town was predominantly indigenous, she was dressed modernly: slacks and a collared shirt. Her one nod to tradition was a woven purse that hung from a strap across her body. She looked the six of us over like a worried mother.
“Are you Mayor Flores?” Sarah asked.
I had wanted Sarah to do most of the talking, not only for her proficiency in Spanish, but because she could establish eye contact. In my work with tribal leaders in Central Asia, I’d learned that what you communicated with your eyes was as important as the words your interpreter translated. It was about establishing trust. And right now Mayor Flores needed as much as we could give her. But Sarah’s gaze was cold and formal like her voice.
“Yes,” the mayor replied uncertainly. “And this is our chief of police, Juan Pablo.”
Understanding he’d been introduced, Juan Pablo nodded his crew-cut head. One of his top front teeth glinted with metal as he uttered a greeting. He remained a safe distance back, however, his gaze flitting over Rusty, Takara, Yoofi, and Olaf, who were arrayed behind us, before returning to me.
Sarah gave a stiff nod. “We’re the Legion force. As soon as we load the vans, you’ll take us to our compound.” It came out more an order than a request. To our right, a line of bulky Centurion soldiers was already loading our equipment and supplies into the cargo van.
“Of course,” Mayor Flores replied, “but then it is urgent we talk.”
“We have the latest information,” Sarah told her. “Once we’ve established our headquarters, appropriate security, and a surveillance system for the town, we’ll schedule a meeting.”
I clenched my jaw. She was missing the obvious: there had been a new development.
“What happened?” I asked, taking care to articulate past the helmet’s muffling effect.
“I-I stopped at my office on the way here,” Mayor Flores said, “and found this under the door.” She reached a trembling hand into her purse, withdrew a piece of paper, and gave it to Sarah. “Juan Pablo already checked it for prints, but there weren’t any.”
The note was in Spanish, and though I couldn’t read it, the spidery script made my skin crawl. Sarah activated her helmet’s headlamp, eyes moving quickly behind her glasses as she absorbed the message.
“It’s an ultimatum,” Sarah said when she finished. “The town is to leave a child at the old military base across the river at midnight tomorrow, or, I quote, ‘the town will know death.’”
The police chief muttered and crossed himself. He had already lost one of his officers to the murderous creatures. Meanwhile, Mayor Flores’s face looked like it was about to come apart.
“Please help us,” she pled. “Please help El Rosario.”
We followed the police cruiser t
oward the center of town. Sarah drove the passenger van, which carried the entire team save Rusty. He was behind us, driving the cargo van. Well beyond him, I could hear the diminishing thump of rotary blades. The helos were leaving, four of them headed to a temporary base forty miles away. There, a small team would remain on standby for evacuation and as a quick reaction force for the duration of our mission.
Otherwise, we’d be on our own.
I kept a close watch on our surroundings as Sarah drove. The adobe homes near the soccer fields gave way to larger cement buildings. Murals advertising Coca-Cola and Orange Fanta colorfully identified several businesses. Up ahead, the church’s white bell tower rose high above the rooftops, like a heavenly sentry. But a palpable dread hung over the town. Despite the warm night, doors were closed and windows shuttered; some in the nicer looking part of town featured shiny new sets of security bars.
I turned partway around. From the back row of seats, Olaf stared straight ahead. His thick hands clutched the MP88 to his chest. Takara sat one row in front of him, perfectly erect but with her eyes closed. I’d seen her do this several times prior to exercises. Though I hadn’t asked, I guessed it was how she focused her power. Yoofi was on the seat closest to the front. Though he was facing his window, his eyes were glazed over, one hand absently caressing his staff.
“Any impressions?” I asked.
Yoofi’s head shook slowly. “Dabu doesn’t like this place,” he said in a distant voice. “Much evil here. And the evil is growing. Like a shadow, he says.”
“Does he know where the evil is coming from?”
“Only that it’s not from this world. Dabu never feel such evil before.” Yoofi shuddered as his eyes returned to focus. “Usually Dabu laughs when I see him. Not this time.”
I straightened as the cruiser approached the public square and then turned right. We followed the cruiser for another block before it pulled over in front of a two-story building at the block’s end. The police chief got out, unlocked a gate, and waved us toward it. Beyond the gate was a roofless carport, large enough for both vans to fit side by side.
“I’ll secure the carport,” I said. “Olaf, Takara, I want you covering the street.”
As the two of them exited the side door, weapons readied, Sarah turned toward me. “I can interview the mayor and police chief while you get set up.”
“I want to talk to them too.” I said it in a way that wasn’t challenging but that wasn’t asking permission either. I’d seen enough at the soccer fields to know that, as intelligent as she was, Sarah was blind to emotional cues. And I didn’t want us to miss any important info—especially now that we had a midnight deadline to stop whatever was threatening the town.
“Fine,” she said.
I got out and sniffed the air. Despite the bulkiness of my helmet, it allowed decent flow. Currents of mountain air, street dust, wood fires, and distant sewage seeped into my nostrils. The scent of the townspeople filled in the spaces, their aroma like strong coffee. No one in the immediate area, though. With the MP88 tucked against my shoulder, I jerked my head, signaling Sarah to pull into the carport. Rusty followed, squeezing his van in beside hers.
I tested a locked door that joined the carport to the main building as Sarah and Rusty dismounted the vehicles. I led them to the front of the building, where the mayor and police chief awaited us. “This is the building your company wanted,” Mayor Flores said. “It’s very solid, very secure. And it is close to us. You saw the church and square coming in? The municipal building with my office is on the other side of the square, and the police station is beside it.”
Behind us, the police chief was unlocking the green-painted metal door to the building. But before he could pull it open, I placed a hand on his arm and turned to Mayor Flores. “Whoever stuck the note under your office door could still be around. We need to clear the building.”
She spoke in Spanish to Juan Pablo, who nodded and stood back.
“Olaf, I want you to stay out here on rear security,” I said. “The rest of us are going to stack and clear, just like we practiced.” I still hadn’t assigned Yoofi a loaded weapon, so I told him to use his staff. He nodded and with an uttered word, a ball of dark energy warped the air around his blade.
I breached the door and we filed inside in a rush, taking up positions around a large cement room that held a table, a few chairs, and little else. We made a quick circuit of the bottom floor, calling out the rooms we cleared. A basic kitchen and three rooms with metal bunks stood at one end of the floor, while an office and a large storage space occupied the other. We then moved upstairs into an open area where some cinderblocks and raw planks had been stored.
At the center of the room lay a gray cat. I signaled for the others to hold back as I approached, already smelling the creature’s recent death. When I picked it up, its neck lolled to one side. The police chief, arriving behind us, came to a sudden stop. “No esta aqui esta tarde.”
“It wasn’t here this afternoon,” Sarah translated.
“Could be a warning,” I said, holding the cat closer to my nose. Beneath the hair and dead tissue, I detected a peppery smell, bordering on sweet. I peered around. Like the downstairs, thick iron bars fortified the few upstairs windows. “Are there any other keys to the building besides the ones you gave us?” I asked the police chief as I set the cat back down.
Sarah posed the question, then translated his response. “He’s pretty sure it’s the only set.” But I interpreted the nervous activity in Juan Pablo’s eyes to mean he wasn’t sure.
Great. “Can I see the note the mayor gave you?”
Sarah handed it to me and I held it under the helmet’s breathing apparatus. I smelled paper, forensic dust, and the oil of those who had handled it, but no peppery smell. I handed it back, then signaled for everyone to stay put. I performed a sniffing circuit of the compound, but whoever was responsible for the scent on the cat hadn’t left a trail.
“All right,” I said when I returned. “Takara, I want you to access the roof. Coordinate security with Olaf, who will remain out front. Yoofi, help Rusty unload the cargo van. Let’s have that office be our communications center. We’ll use the storage space for weapons and equipment. When you finish, get gates up over the two doors leading outside. They’re not secure.”
I turned to Sarah. “We can meet at the table downstairs.”
As the team broke apart to their assignments, Sarah, Mayor Flores, the police chief, and I gathered around the long table. Sarah had retrieved her clipboard, and we watched her sort through the sheaf of papers. The mayor appeared to have composed herself. Having a professional team armed to the teeth in her town no doubt helped—even if there were gaping holes in our preparedness.
At least I’m the only one who can see them. Would hate to have our first client doubt our capacity before we even get started.
As if in apology for breaking down at the soccer fields, Mayor Flores said, “Nothing like this has ever happened in El Rosario.”
“We understand,” I replied before Sarah could jump into her line of questioning. “And we’ll do everything we can to secure the town and end the threat. To begin, we’re going to need to ask some questions.”
“Yes, of course.”
I turned to Sarah, who was waiting for me to finish, her pen poised.
“Have there been any illnesses in El Rosario recently?” she launched in.
“I can check with the health clinic,” the mayor answered, “but nothing unusual that I’m aware of.”
“People acting rabid or violent or showing unusual strength?” Sarah followed up.
The mayor consulted with the police chief, who shook his head. “No,” she said.
“We passed a large cemetery on the way in,” Sarah said, still jotting down notes from her prior questions. “Have there been any grave robberies recently or any signs that the site has been disturbed?”
Concern creased the mayor’s face as she consulted Juan Pablo again. “No,
nothing like that,” she replied. “During the festival, many people go to the cemetery on the third day to celebrate their ancestors. There is food and music, but the burial sites are sacred. They are not disturbed.”
“Have any adults left El Rosario in the past few weeks?”
“Many who can have left with their children, yes, mostly to other cities where they have family. But that was after the disappearances started. Otherwise, no more than usual. Some go to the coast this time of year to work.”
“There’s been no talk of family members not being able to reach them?” Sarah pressed.
“No.”
Though the line of questioning no doubt sounded strange to the mayor, Sarah was being systematic. Centurion’s computer algorithm had already eliminated ghouls and wights—they lacked the brains to disguise themselves as clowns and didn’t look human enough anyway—as well as several of the more common Prodigium 1s. That left a short list of candidates and probabilities. Sarah was eliminating the lowest-probability ones first: lycanthropes, then zombies under the thrall of a necromancer, then humans under the thrall of a vampire or evil sorcerer. It was scary how much I had learned in the last week.
With Sarah’s next question, I knew we’d moved on to vampires themselves.
“Have there been any suspicious deaths among the livestock? Cows, horses, pigs?” In the reams of information Centurion’s computers had parsed, the algorithms learned that some vampires, especially those newly turned, began with animals before working their way up to humans.
“I don’t think so.” Mayor Flores posed the question to her police chief anyway. Following a short exchange, he shook his head, then stopped and talked at length, hands in motion.
The mayor turned back to us. “We haven’t heard of anything like that, but with all of the cooking and smells of food, the festival attracted a lot of stray dogs. They show up every year. Like pests, they scurry around the market, stealing food. The week after the festival, the police usually have to put out poisoned meat to control the population. But this year, Juan Pablo says they didn’t have to. After the festival, a lot of the dogs left on their own.”
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