Blood Demons

by Richard Jeffries

  Still, none of the field team let up on it, keeping the stun-stick tips tight on the creature as they bore it to the ground.

  “Who’s still got their comm-link?” Key spat.

  Everyone was too focused to answer. He repeated the question, but his words were drowned out by the greatest sound they ever thought they’d hear.

  It was the distinctive noise of Gonzales’s F. B. Law copter right outside. It was the incredibly fast, compact, powerful copter he had created to steal Nichols from her Yemen captors—and the reason he had created the Lawgiver cargo jet to bring it to Varanasi with them.

  Its rotors tore the shroud from the abattoir opening and turned the interior into a tornado of filth, but none of them cared. They kept the stun-sticks on the creature until Safar leaped in with a high-powered CO2 net-gun.

  “Clear!” he barked, and all three agents leaped away as he pulled the trigger on the thing that looked like a rifle with a megaphone on the end. Only this megaphone shot a ten-by-ten-foot net consisting of six-inch, reinforced, rubber-coated wire. It emerged with a sound that was a cross between a silenced revolver and a wet kiss.

  As soon as it slapped around the creature, Gonzales was there with another one—blasting the creature again as it went down. Then four of them threw themselves on the monster, knotting the corners with the nets before Gonzales returned with Chain-silk duffel bags, as well as industrial straps and chains.

  Pure fury fueled them; it was the best accelerant this side of hate. And no one took any chances until the fully wrapped form of the creature writhed at their feet. Only then did a blood-streaked, offal-splattered Nichols look from one to the next with trembling eyes.

  “Oh, I am not into toughing this out,” she moaned and dropped to the ground, sobbing. No human in the room blamed her. No one moved forward, either; they gave her the moment, and her space. But only a moment.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Key stressed, already tightening his fingers around one end of the creature’s packing. “The sooner we get everyone back to Eshe’s clinic, the better.”

  “Everyone?” Daniels echoed, glancing at Peters like a lost cause.

  “Everyone,” Key stressed.

  Daniels did not verbally question the order, only gave his superior an ‘are you sure?’ look.

  “Come on, move!” Key answered verbally…loudly.

  Nichols had recovered enough to help Gonzales get what was left of Peters into a body bag before she was inspired to collect all the earplugs the trio had flung. Even so, they were all on the F. B. Law, and speeding back to the airport, within minutes. Only then did Key get on the copter’s comm-link to contact Lancaster. He certainly wasn’t going to stick the earplugs back in—not after where they had been all over that fire temple.

  “Joe,” Key heard the retired general say in the radio’s headphones.

  Just the one name, the one word, communicated dread to Key. “Sir?”

  “Assistant Professor Rahal isn’t here.” He used her actual scientific title, reminding them both that, although she had accomplished some extraordinary things with, and for, Cerberus, she wasn’t actually a doctor of anything yet.

  Key immediately thought MIA? On assignment? Injured? But he wasn’t the kind of man who asked “What do you mean?” Instead he waited.

  “She’s AWOL,” Lancaster continued gravely, using the military nomenclature for absent without leave. “And so is C1.”

  Chapter 15

  Safar used the eight-hundred-mile trip back to fine-tune the new tech.

  Every few minutes the burned body—even from within the layered netting, packaging, straps, and chains—emanated another wave of brain energy—apparently trying to make Gonzales crash the cargo jet with all of them in it. Each passenger dealt with it in their own way.

  Key used it to test his ability to withstand it. Daniels used it as an excuse to use his shock stick on the package repeatedly until the emotional wave passed. Nichols cried freely and unashamedly. Gonzales immediately engaged autopilot when it started, then leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to meditate. And Safar tweaked the new tech’s frequency modulator to diminish or eliminate it, occasionally reversing the polarity of the neutron flow.

  Daniels didn’t need to ask Key whether he thought Peters might come back the way the burned body—who they were now certain was the unclad attacker—and C1 had. As soon as the body bag was aboard Key had, without comment, strapped and chained it tightly around the shins, knees, thighs, waist, elbows, and throat. It lay beside the wrapped, undulating, burned body during the flight.

  After this latest mental muddle cleared, Daniels, not surprisingly, spoke first. “Well, I guess there’s no doubt now. The burnt bastard with the missing forearm sure didn’t have no sleeping sickness.”

  Key let the comment slide, having much bigger issues to attend to. Now we really get to see how far and deep Lancaster’s influence goes, he thought. “So, what now?” he asked the retired general via the comm-link.

  There was no discernible affront or offence in Lancaster’s reply. “In your absence, I contacted the team who rushed out the EQ ‘earquilibrium’ devices. They offered a lot of gobbledygook about neuronal activity, brain chemistry, molecular pathophysiology, and neurotoxicological research.”

  Lancaster waited a moment for that to sink in, then continued. “But the bottom line is that they still feel that if anything can prevent this monster from escaping while they continue their research, the containment unit here at Cerberus can.”

  That satisfied everyone on the jet, except one—the one who was most upset that his brain was being messed with. “All due respect, sir,” Daniels replied in a seemingly disinterested way, “but why should we give a fuck what your mystery medics think?”

  Again, Lancaster was neither offended nor taken aback. Nor did his reply include any hint of condescension. “A reasonable question, master sergeant. Ever since I decided to create Cerberus, I have been preparing for just such a question by recruiting the greatest suppressed, denied, dismissed, and disbelieved minds in the world.”

  “A bunch of crackpot loonies?” Daniels blurted, his expression immediately showing regret.

  But Lancaster only shook his head. “Now that I will chalk up to the brain-scrambling proximity of the naked scavenger, because I’m sure even you know that I’m not a loony hunter. Every person involved has been thoroughly scouted specifically for what I was afraid Cerberus might be needed for.”

  Key wasn’t sure whether Lancaster’s very first use of the word “afraid,” rather than “concerned,” was a good or bad thing.

  “Yeah, what about that?” Daniels interjected, needing more time to regain his mental balance. “Maybe now would be a good time to know what the hell I’ve joined and why.”

  Nichols, for one, sat up, wiped her eyes, and nodded in agreement.

  Key chalked everyone’s emotional diarrhea to the unstable mental state caused by dealing with these brain and body pillagers, but it was better to clear the air than further muddy it.

  The retired general seemed to agree. “I have seen my share of human evil,” Lancaster started.

  “More than your share, sir,” Safar agreed.

  Lancaster paused to acknowledge Safar’s comment, then took a breath. “But all too often, especially recently, I’ve seen evil I couldn’t fully explain or understand. And I thought I had seen everything.” He paused again, and once he resumed, Key understood why he had paused. “One of the reasons I retired from the military is that my peers, and even my most devoted aides, thought I might be becoming obsessed with the growing shadows just beyond my mental and physical vision.”

  There was not a raised eyebrow on the aircraft—not even from Daniels, not after what he had gone through.

  “But the more successful and wealthy I became, the more apparent this growing darkness was becoming—and all the more
threatening to the country and people I had sworn to protect. What was the point of acquiring all that wealth, influence, and knowledge if I didn’t use it in a necessary, pressing way no one else was? A way no one else would, because they only believed what was right at the end of their nose? And sometimes not even that. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that humankind is more than capable of destroying himself. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything else do it.”

  That seemed to be the last word, but Key wouldn’t leave it at that. As always, he was intent on moving forward, as fast as they could. “Sounds promising, sir, but right now we need something just as important as science.” Before anyone could say “what’s that,” Key continued. “Credulity. I probably don’t have to tell you this, but I better. Evil, whether it’s a child molester or a vampire, is sick and sad, but also depends on stupid, innocent people to buy their shit because the innocent can’t, or won’t, believe such evil can exist. Evil feeds on the ‘they can’t control themselves’ and the ‘they think what they’re doing is right.’ What good is all the greatest minds in the world if they allow themselves to be victimized because they believe something, anything, is not possible?”

  “Which brings us back to Doctor—I mean, Professor Rahal,” Daniels said dourly as he looked at Key. “Someone had to bring it up, Joe.”

  Key reacted with an understanding shrug.

  “She’s AWOL?” Nichols piped up, having been informed by Gonzales. “How is that even possible?”

  “It’s possible,” Safar said regretfully. “All the Chinese Versailles security was for keeping people from getting in, not keeping us from getting out.”

  “But not a single surveillance camera recorded her departure—” Nichols started, then stopped herself. “Oh, yeah, right. C1 was with her, wasn’t she?”

  “Now we have to find out whether Eshe brought her for camouflage purposes, or C1 was controlling her—” Gonzales mused.

  “Or someone or something was controlling C1, Eshe, or both,” Key sighed. He nodded at Daniels. “Let’s continue our talk with Lailani,” he ordered before gingerly standing. “General,” he called. “Please have your think tanks collect, study, and analyze everything possible on the myths and stories that inspired vampire legends. Nothing is too obscure or incredible.”

  “Already in progress,” Lancaster assured him. “I am personally editing every word.”

  Key stood, then nearly lost his balance from his own smell. Daniels put out a hand to steady him. “What do you want to bet Lailani gives us more useful info than all the think tanks?” he whispered.

  “I’ll bet your ass,” Key whispered back. “In fact, I’m betting all our asses.” He raised his head. “And general?” he called. “I hope your colleagues have also suggested some cutting-edge sterilization and odor-eating technology, or else we’re going to have to walk through a car wash and have a clothes burning as soon as we land.”

  Lancaster chuckled again. “Understood, Major. Just land safely.”

  Key glanced at Safar, who looked back hopefully. “Seems to be working,” the tech said softly. “Either that or the creature we encountered is laeib tamarud.” Safar grimaced at his slipping back into Arabic. “Playing possum,” he quickly translated.

  “Don’t give him any ideas,” Daniels groaned, gripping his stun-stick tighter.

  “I guess we’ll find out when the landing gear deploys,” Key breathed. “Until then, why don’t we all exercise our beat-up brains figuring out what to call this bastard?”

  * * * *

  There were some new Versailles servants when the Lawgiver landed—safely. They stood around Dr. Helen as she greeted them at the cargo jet door. To the Cerberus agents they looked like a quartet of local farmers, outfitted to battle locusts.

  They were completely covered, but in what would seem, to observers, to be standard farm wear: straw hats, clear goggles, colorful scarves from their noses to their necks, billowing shorts, pants, boots, gloves, and aprons. Nichols could even see that their ears were covered by something that, to her enhanced vision, looked like a cross between Cali-brake and Chain-silk. Dr. Helen, who had a large pocketbook on her arm, said something in Chinese to them, and they leaned down to grip four corners of two coffin-sized, insulated, lined boxes that rested on a wheeled platform.

  “Bet they’re her nephews or grandchildren, or something,” Daniels said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “At least her relatives,” Key commented, thinking of the woman’s skills, which he hoped did not fall far from the family tree. “I certainly hope so.”

  They moved around the agents as Dr. Helen held her nose with one hand and waved the agents toward the Chinese re-creation of the palace’s gardens—complete with what was known as the Orangerie Fountain and Swiss Pool. Daniels could take a hint. He was the first to strip down and belly flop in the nearest water, with Nichols, Key, Safar, and Gonzales not far behind. After what they had shared, there was not a shred of shame or embarrassment. And even though the pilot and copilot had only spent seconds in the fire temple abattoir, it was enough to consider their clothes, and especially their footwear, a lost cause.

  Dr. Helen reached into her bag and tossed each a plastic bottle of body soap, which they each used quickly but profusely. Then she handed each a remarkably effective towel, then a standard hospital robe. By then, one of the “farmers” had joined her with a plastic hand-shovel and garbage bag. He collected all the soiled clothes and footwear without touching them, threw the now tainted shovel in the bag with them, tied the top, and brought the bag, at arm’s length, with him as he left.

  They reconvened in Lancaster’s office, all wearing new Cali-brake and Chain-silk uniforms, as well as new comm-links and EQs, which they found on the beds of their Versailles Grands Appartements quarters.

  “Shit,” Daniels commented, looking them over. “We look like a German techno band.”

  Everyone grinned—Key officially acknowledging that occasional humor, and Daniels’s humor in particular, was an important weapon in their fight against the seemingly unbelievable. It was either that, or depression, then maybe certifiable insanity.

  The second place Key looked was at Lancaster’s monitors. They seemed to have sprung an extra image in the team’s absence. Each image showed a man watching a monitor. Lancaster noticed Key’s gaze.

  “For what it’s worth,” he said. “Double surveillance now. No one watches Z1, or any of our detainees, without someone watching them for safe-keeping.” Z1 was the title the team had decided upon—although, for a while during the return trip, they were perilously close to going with Daniels’s suggestion: Pee-wee. “And yes,” Lancaster continued, “all our new employees are part of Dr. Helen’s extended family.”

  Key was glad to hear it. And heaven knew there were more than enough grands appartements to house a lot more. “Good,” he said. “Now, first things first, as my dad used to say. Faisal?” He tapped his left ear, “these things working now?”

  Safar glanced at Gonzales. “Hasta ahora, todo va bien. Speedy taught me that.”

  Gonzales translated. “‘So far everything is going well.’ There was no equivalent he could find in Arabic.”

  Daniels rolled his eyes. “Next time just say ‘so far so good.’ We’ll find out soon enough. If we keep fighting, they work. If we curl up in a ball or our heads explode, they don’t.”

  “Any meaningful updates or upgrades based on continuing research,” Lancaster assured them, “will be automatically uploaded.”

  “Next,” Nichols quickly suggested, “we find Eshe, right?”

  Key sadly shook his head. “Not blindly,” he said before looking at each of the others. “First we have to collect and compare notes. What do we know?”

  Key counted on Daniels speaking up first, and the man didn’t disappointment.

  “They don’t die easy,” the master serge
ant said. “Hell, they may not die at all.”

  Key nodded—not so much at the comment, but the knowledge that his remark would encourage the others to contribute freely, knowing they couldn’t say anything stupider than Daniels.

  “Yes, but they are damageable,” Gonzales added.

  “And they apparently can reconstitute themselves by using the life-force of victims,” Nichols observed.

  Daniels found himself wondering what they would do if the Z1 did not bleed.

  “Not ‘they’ yet,” Lancaster reminded them. “So far it’s just ‘he.’”

  Key made a motion with his head that seemed to combine both a nod and a shake. “But,” he said, “‘they’ can apparently effect human minds. On the basis of personal experience, the closer the proximity, the more powerful the effect.” His gaze took in all the others. “And now one has escaped, either by well-meaning accident, or mean-spirited purpose. The question is why.”

  Daniels threw his hands up. “What else? World domination.”

  Gonzales snorted. “I’ve seen a lot more horror movies than you, Morty, and the answer could just as easily be to hide and feed. Vampires”—he started, then knowingly corrected himself—“fictional vampires want to stay in the shadows and control their populations. And if they take over the world, eventually there’ll be no one left to feed on.”

  “So what was this?” Nichols asked in confusion. “A mistake? Did we stumble on Z1 by accident?”

  Key nodded, this time without the hint of a shake. “I think so, Terri,” he said, unable to erase all worry from his face. “I think Z1 fucked up and has been trying to erase all traces of it ever since.”

  “So,” Nichols responded hopelessly. “What can we do?”

  Key breathed deeply. “We can wait for something to happen.”