by Graham Brown
“Kate?”
“We hold,” she said. “We wait and see who else shows up.”
“You’re putting that woman at risk.”
“We have cameras. If anything happens inside, we go, but not until then.”
Billy Ray rubbed his temple and shook his head. He gave the order anyway. “No one move,” he said. “I repeat, no one move. Do not break cover. We’re holding to see who else comes to the party.”
He sat back down, racked the slide on his gun, and then holstered it. “You’d better be right about this. You’re playing a game with that girl’s life.”
“And if we spook these guys and lose them, and ten more people die,” she replied, “what good have we done then?”
Moving through the abandoned yards, Christian focused on the couple entering the dilapidated house. He now saw what he had only felt as the car passed. The man at the door was James Hecht.
There might have been several dozen Nosferatu prowling the streets of New Orleans tonight, but none were as deadly or as powerful as this one. Normally, Hecht was a master of caution. It had taken Christian months to track him down in New York. Tonight, however, in a city on the edge of panic, he was reckless. Then again, the other Nosferatu had become similarly bold. It must have something to do with what Drake was brewing out in the bayou.
Up ahead, Hecht had the woman at the door. She was even thinner than Christian had thought. Probably a junkie of some kind. Hecht’s preferred type.
Hecht opened the door, and she hesitated. It would make no difference; Hecht had her mind entangled. He put a hand on her back. He didn’t even have to force her. She relaxed and entered willingly.
Christian watched as the door closed. Hecht wouldn’t wait long. He couldn’t. He was a junkie too, just like the girl.
CHAPTER 37
AS THE suspects entered the house, Kate switched over to the interior cameras. They were infrared and battery operated, because the house was dark and had no electrical power.
Camera 2 flared a bit, and Kate saw the woman’s heat signature as she moved into view.
“Where’s the guy?” she asked.
Billy Ray shook his head. “I don’t see him. He must be blocked.” He keyed the mike on his radio. “Anyone got our first suspect?”
One of the spotters replied. “First target is inside with the girl. Second target is still outside, twenty yards from the house, approaching cautiously.”
Kate switched from one camera to the next. Only the woman’s shape appeared on the screen. She turned to the tech who’d set up the cameras. “I thought you had every inch of that place covered?”
“I do,” the tech replied.
The woman was there. She looked like she was smoking something. A bright spot showed a lighter sparking up and then going dark. At least she was still alive.
“Second suspect is approaching the house.”
The woman’s image faded for a second, as if something had passed between her and the camera; then it brightened again.
They could hear voices, tinny and slightly muffled, on the audio.
“You got something else besides cigarettes?”
“Unless she’s talking to herself, he’s in there,” Kate said.
“He must be in a blind spot,” the tech said.
“From all the cameras?”
“I don’t know what else it could be. All systems say they’re working.”
“Second suspect is at the door.”
Billy Ray drummed his fingers. “I think we need to go, Boss. I don’t think we can wait.”
The tech was working on the problem to no avail. “There’s nothing wrong with the feed,” he said.
On the screen, the woman’s image was obscured again, and then, suddenly, the sound of scuffling broke out. The infrared cameras caught muzzle flashes from a gun as three shots echoed, quick and sharp. The third blast was followed by a crashing thud and then the horrible sound of someone screaming.
“Go!” Kate shouted. “Go! Go! Go!”
CHAPTER 38
CHRISTIAN HEARD the shots and raced the last twenty feet to the house. He kicked through the door and rushed inside. Hecht was crouched over the woman, gulping down her blood as fast as he could get it into his system.
“Hecht!”
Hecht released the woman from his jaws and looked up at Christian, his face and neck drenched in red. He flung something at Christian and then raced toward a boarded-up window, launching himself and crashing through the plywood and out into the night.
Christian rushed to the girl. She was still alive, barely. He ripped off part of her shirt and wrapped her neck with it, but the bleeding would not stop. As some of the blood poured over his hands, Christian retreated, like he’d been scalded with boiling water.
Beside her, he noticed the source of the gunfire—a cheap 9mm automatic with a stubby barrel.
Christian grabbed the gun, ran to the window, and hopped through. He ran three steps before getting cut off by a man in body armor.
“Freeze!”
Christian raced past him, slamming a stiff arm into his chest and sending him flying into the outside wall of the house.
The man crashed to the ground, spun, and fired.
As the blaze of fire erupted from the agent’s rifle, Christian felt the bullets rip through his body, felt his coat fly as they tore holes in the fabric. The well-aimed shots would do the agent no good. The Nosferatu existed in suspension, one foot in this world, one foot in the world beyond. In truth, they phased rapidly back and forth, like an alternating current. The result was something like looking at a spinning fan or propeller. It might have been common knowledge that there were solid blades whirling rapidly in front of the person staring into it, but it looked for all the world like an empty, perhaps blurred, space.
It was the reason the Fallen blurred and vanished in mirrors and other reflections. The reason they appeared ghostly on anything but extremely high-speed film. And the reason they cast no shadow. Anything that moved at high velocity went through them and out the other side as if it were passing through empty space. That included bullets and arrows and light. Only weapons that lodged and held, like swords or knives or simple wooden stakes, could affect them.
With the agent wondering how he’d missed, Christian dashed across the street, chasing Hecht, who was already out of view. More shots rang out after them, but it was too late. Both Hecht and Christian had broken containment. Their pursuers would be left far behind in the blink of an eye.
A small army of federal agents charged the abandoned property from all sides. Kate busted in through the front door right behind the main assault team.
Flashlights scoured the walls. There was no sign of movement. The agents fanned out, heading into separate rooms.
Gunfire boomed outside.
“Over here!” an agent shouted from a corner of the building.
Billy Ray rushed to the victim. Kate ran to the broken window.
She glanced outside, the 9mm Glock tight in her hands and ready to fire. She saw no sign of the suspects, but a member of the assault team was injured.
“Man down,” she called, clearing the alley and climbing out through the window.
Two more bursts of gunfire rang out, the sound echoing from the front of the house.
Kate rushed to the injured agent. He was alive, but he looked to be in great pain. Still, she saw no sign of the suspects.
“What happened?” she asked, crouching beside him, her eyes darting around.
“My ribs,” the guy said, “I think they’re broken.”
“What happened to the suspect?”
“I hit him with a burst,” the agent said. “He didn’t even slow down.”
The agent tried to get up, fell, and began coughing up blood.
Billy Ray’s voice came over the radio. “Victim’s bleeding out.”
“Emergency units are on the way,” another voice answered.
Sirens were already wailing as unmarked c
ars screeched to a stop around the house. The paramedics wouldn’t be far behind.
She keyed the radio again. “Does anybody have eyes on the damn suspects?”
A long silence followed.
“Anyone?”
“Negative. Negative. We lost ’em. They ran north, but we lost ’em.”
Kate slammed her fist into the soft ground. “Damn it!”
Keeping her eyes down, she noticed tracks in the mud heading north. Looking north, she paused for a second, And then without a word, she took off running.
CHAPTER 39
KATE RAN north as fast as she could. She heard the ambulances and the squad cars heading for the house behind her. She heard other emergency units in the distance. If the suspects had any sense at all, they’d be keeping off the roads. She did the same, cutting through the vacant yards and alleyways, crossing overgrown, weed-covered lots.
She felt as if both suspects were ahead, maybe racing toward some prearranged meeting spot or even another vehicle. She had no idea how they’d gotten past the assault team and the spotters, but she wasn’t giving up that easily, not this time.
She hopped a low fence and ended up on a greenbelt that might have been designed to catch runoff from the rain. She sprinted on, scanning the area but heading north with reckless abandon.
Half a mile out, her side began to cramp, and her lungs were soon screaming in rebellion. But she ignored the pain and the rational part of her mind that told her she was way out on a limb to be chasing two suspected killers alone, on foot. All that mattered was finding them. She had to.
She had to.
A full mile ahead, Christian was tracking Hecht like a bloodhound chasing a scent. Somewhere up ahead, he felt James Hecht slowing. Under normal conditions, Hecht could have run almost forever. The Nosferatu had great strength and speed. But Hecht had made a crucial mistake.
By feeding off human blood, he’d taken a step back from the void in which the Nosferatu lived. Hecht was now becoming human again, with all their weaknesses. Just as blood gave the Nosferatu the feelings of life they so craved, it also gave them human mortality as it coursed through their veins.
For this reason, most preferred hidden lairs to open and public killings. They chose places where they could easily disappear while enjoying their fix. But James Hecht was on the street, running for his life, and the human blood in his system was stealing more of his power with every second that passed.
Two miles from the drop house, Christian caught sight of Hecht for the first time since he’d gone through the window. Hecht was stumbling, trying to run. Falling to his knees beneath a lone streetlight, he began to wretch.
He was trying to throw up the blood, a desperate last attempt to bring himself back from the edge, but it was too late. The life force he’d stolen from the young woman had reached its zenith within him. He was fully human now, with everything that came along with it.
Christian moved in.
Hecht snapped his head around. He scurried backward, up against the lamppost. He tried to get up but couldn’t. His chest heaved and fell as his mortal body begged for oxygen.
“No point in running now,” Christian said. “You can’t get away like this.”
Hecht looked up at Christian through sullen eyes. “I didn’t think…I would see you…so soon.”
The pale color of Hecht’s skin had flushed with pink. His dead, black eyes softened to a warm, brown color. A tear even formed and ran down his face.
Christian had never been where Hecht was right now, but he’d been told that the rush of feelings was hard to control. It was said many wept over the bodies of those they had killed, partially out of joy and partially because, suddenly gifted with feelings once again, they were stricken with guilt and remorse over what they’d done.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Hecht said. “I’m no more a monster than you.”
Christian ignored Hecht’s barb. He looked at his watch; it had been about four minutes. The high could last an hour or so, but Hecht hadn’t drawn much of the girl’s blood. And he’d thrown up some of it. It wouldn’t be long before his strength started to return.
“You could have chosen a different path,” Christian said.
Hecht laughed, his whole body shaking. “That’s a good one,” he said. “Like I ever had a choice.”
He propped himself up a little better and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “When Drake found me, I was lying in a pile of the dead at Gettysburg. A bayonet had split my liver in two. The blood was so black, the pain was so intense, I wished I were dead. I couldn’t bear it. But Drake didn’t kill me. He turned me, like he did you. He promised me life without pain.”
“That’s not the choice I’m talking about,” Christian said.
“You don’t know what it’s like to feel this,” Hecht spat. “You don’t know what it’s like once you’ve tasted life again.”
“You’d be surprised what I know.”
Hecht ignored him now, reveling in his human feelings. He flicked the lighter to life and brought the flame up, running it across the palm of his hand. At times, his face showed a sense of pleasure from the warmth; at others, a brief spurt of pain ignited as it got too hot.
“It’s so empty when it leaves,” he explained, “like this place, with all the people gone.”
James was burning himself with the lighter now, leaving it in one spot until the palm of his hand blackened and smoked and the smell of his own flesh melting began to scent the air. Only now did Christian realize that Hecht’s palms and forearms were covered in burn scars, somewhat like Elsa’s.
“I’ve killed thousands just for this feeling,” Hecht said, turning angry again. “But I didn’t want this, any of it. Before Drake found me, I was good man. All those lives I took—I’ll pay for them in eternity, but I lay their blood on his hands.”
At that moment, Christian felt empathy for Hecht. He was a murderer who might well deserve death a thousand times over for all he’d done. But he was also cursed.
“There’s another way,” Christian said.
“What are you talking about?”
“A chance at forgiveness is coming,” Christian said. “This curse can be lifted. I don’t know what awaits any of us beyond this world, but you don’t have to die like this. Come with me. I’ll keep you from—”
“No!” Hecht said, angrily pulling the lighter away from his hand. The pain seemed to have grown too strong. “Nothing will stop me from killing. I know. I’ve tried. Not even Drake could keep me.”
“You can be healed,” Christian said. “Forgiven.”
Hecht started to laugh. “I wish I could believe that.”
He switched hands with the lighter and began to burn his other palm. “You know, I’ve tried to kill myself—tried at least a hundred times. But I can’t…I can’t do it.”
Hecht looked up, his eyes slowly turning darker. His soul dying once again. “So why don’t you do it for me?”
Christian stepped back. He couldn’t wait much longer. His hand tightened around the automatic he’d grabbed from beside the victim. “Are you ready?”
Hecht looked around, as if he wanted one last glimpse of the earth, even in this decaying, forgotten place. After endless amounts of time, he had only a precious few moments left. “I am,” he said. “Do it now. So I can feel it. At least I can die like a human.”
Christian raised the pistol and pointed the snub-nosed barrel at Hecht’s chest.
Kate Pfeiffer crouched behind an electrical junction box, breathing hard and trying not to give herself away. Forty yards ahead, a lone streetlight illuminated the two figures beneath it. She couldn’t figure out why they’d stopped, but one of them was down.
She called for backup, gave Billy Ray her location, and inched forward. She watched as the tall blond man stood, and she heard what he said next.
“Are you ready?”
The guy leaning against the lamppost seemed to reply, but Kate couldn’t make out the words.
>
She saw him nod, and figured the blonde one was going to help him to his feet. A wave of shock ran through her as the blond raised a pistol and pointed it at the other guy’s heart.
As if in slow motion, the gun barrel flashed. The slide recoiled, and a shell casing flew out into the air, catching the glare from the streetlight as the booming sound shattered the silence. The blond man raised the gun and fired again, this time at the suspect’s head.
The sitting man’s head snapped back from the second shell, hitting the light pole. A spray of blood exploded out the back of his head like mist. He slumped over, falling to the side.
It happened so fast Kate had no time to think. It was the last thing she’d expected. She stepped from the shadows.
“FBI!” she shouted. “Put down the gun!”
The blond man turned and looked directly at her, but she had her eyes on his gun. If he flinched in the slightest, she would blast him.
“Put it down!”
In a slow, casual move, as if he didn’t need it anymore, he tossed the pistol to the street.
“Get on the ground,” she said.
She was only twenty feet away from him now. She could see that the dead man was the first suspect, the one who’d taken the girl into the house. What the hell is going on here?
“I said get on the ground!”
The man didn’t move. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here,” he said. “The best thing you could do is just walk away.”
A weird feeling inside her told her to do just that, but the fires of her determination overrode it. “You get on the ground now, or I’ll force you down by putting a bullet in your leg.”
As she got within ten feet, she sensed the man trying to stare her down. He was gazing into her eyes. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she averted her own gaze, looking at his chest and his arms and his hands.