by Leo Romero
He scampered back the way he came, going past the elevators and the Japanese blinds out toward the stairwell, his head pounding like a heavyweight boxer was using it for a punch bag. He got out into the stairwell and began running down floors as fast as he could, hoping to bump into one of his guys; there was no way he could be alone in the whole building. He made it down five flights, the thunder outside the building rumbling like the pain in his head. He was about to enter the next stairwell when the door leading to the ninety-second burst open. A whole bunch of guys in combat fatigues and balaclavas swarmed the stairwell, shouting and pointing their guns. Nixon froze.
The lead guy stormed right into Nixon’s face. “Get back against the wall! Get back!” he screamed.
Nixon threw his hands in the air. “Okay, okay, okay,” he stammered, pressing his back against the whitewashed wall.
“Who are you?” the solider barked.
“General James Nixon.”
The solider stared at him sideways. “You Blacklake?”
Nixon nodded. “Sure am. Who are you guys?”
The solider whipped off his balaclava. Nixon winced; half the guy’s face had been chemically burned off, only half his crew cut remaining on his seared head. His skin rippled and sagged off his skull like melted wax. He stared at Nixon hard, his eyes blank, devoid of any semblance of a soul. “Dragon-stay-behind unit,” the burned guy growled. “You work for the Bloods?”
At first Nixon didn’t know how to answer. He swayed his head left and right. “Maybe.”
“Well, they’re gone now. We’re running the show. The Dragons have issued amnesty to Blacklake. You either join us or die.” He pumped his shotgun and shoved the muzzle right into Nixon’s chest. “Your move.”
Nixon glanced down at the weapon jammed into him and gulped. He straightened his back and saluted the soldier ahead of him. “You got yourself a new recruit, sir!”
The burned Dragon began smiling, and with the ugliness of his scorched face, it was the hideous expression of a hungry alligator. “At ease, solider,” he said.
Nixon was led down to the control hub the Dragon-stay-behinds had set up on the eighty-fifth. There, he was brought up to speed by Sergeant Blunt, a mean, crew cut marine type with stone cold eyes; the kinda guy Nixon had a lot of time for. By all accounts, the lobby had flooded and was full of snakes. Nixon had no idea if that was true or not, but the unit were crapping themselves about these snakes they said were all over the Loop. Apparently they were coming from somewhere south; Mexico or Honduras.
“Goddamned spics!” Nixon spat once the info was relayed to him. “Wish they’d just stick to their dump south of the border and leave us here to live clean.”
“Amen, brother,” Sergeant Blunt retorted.
“Where did you serve, brother?” Nixon asked him.
“Falluja, Iraq. Two tours.”
“So, how did you end up with the Dragons? I always thought they were European.”
“They are.”
“I don’t understand, soldier. We’re Americans. They’re Europeans.”
“And you’re more naïve than you should be, general. The orders are always cutting deals with one another, hiring and firing, moving pieces around the chessboard, forming and dissolving alliances.”
“You mean to say the Bloods and the Dragons were... allies?”
“Not exactly. Business partners. My enemy’s enemy is my friend and all that jazz.”
“Christ on a stick,” Nixon said to himself in disbelief. And I thought I was a merc.
“Right now the spics are trying to take Chicago, specifically this building by flooding it with snakes and cartel gangbangers armed to the teeth. We’re here to protect the interests of the Dragons, namely the remnants of the Blood Order. Now, you in, soldier?”
Nixon straightened his back. “One hundred and ten percent!”
“Good man!”
“Sergeant James Conrad Nixon at your disposal.”
“Go grab a gun, Jim.”
Nixon’s stiff-backed pose melted. “Er, I prefer to be called Husky Flamingo.”
Blunt stared at him with eyes as cold as a serial killer.
Nixon gulped. “It’s just a... nickname, sir.”
“Just go grab a frickin’ gun and start shooting some snakes and spics.”
Nixon slammed his foot down on the floor and saluted Blunt, his back straightening like he just had a rod shoved up his ass. “Sir, yes, sir!”
CHAPTER NINE
Dom woke up to the sound of rain hitting his bedroom window. He spun his disorientated head around for a few moments, trying to shake off the nightmares still stuck in his conscious mind. For a second he was back in the I-Sore Tower, a prisoner to the Blood Order, his life in danger. He witnessed the mighty Leviah snap the head off a Blacklake merc and sling it across the room like a discarded toy. The head landed by Dom’s feet, where the face turned up toward him. But, it was the face of the merc Dom had killed, the one he let drop off the side of the building. The eyes on that head snapped open, the face contorting into a scowl. “You’re coming with me!” it snarled.
Dom flinched back in terror, just as his own eyes snapped open to the darkness of his bedroom. He gasped and sat upright, his heart pounding, sweat dripping down his forehead. The image of that merc’s scowl melted back into the shadows of his mind, and his bedroom took over. He looked around, realizing he was in his bed, rain hitting glass the background noise. His chest relaxed and he flopped back down on his bed, wiping the sweat from his face.
My God. All that actually happened, he realized half in amazement and half in disbelief.
“I killed that guy,” he said to himself.
“It was either you or him,” Vincent responded in his mind.
Dom shook his head. “Yeah,” he said as he threw his covers off and gingerly got up from his bed and checked the time. It was seven pm. How long had he been asleep? However long it was, he’d slept like a rock. He rubbed his head as he made his way out of his room. The mansion was quiet bar the sound of rain outside. Dom trudged down the corridor toward the main stairs. He looked down them; Ralph, head of Sun security, was stationed by the front door. On spotting Dom, he raised his hand. Dom returned the gesture before going down the steps.
“How you doing, Dom?” Ralph asked him as he approached.
“I’ve been better, bro,” Dom replied. “Where’s Vincent?”
“He’s around. Think he’s watching TV. He’s been glued to it all day.”
“Yeah? What’s been going on?”
Ralph shrugged again. “Beats me. I’m just here to make sure no one gets in.”
“Well, you’re doing a fine job so far.”
“Ain’t I just?”
Dom chuckled. “I’ll catch you later.” He headed straight for the lounge to find Vincent standing in front of the TV. He was scrutinizing it like a football coach watching the game unfold. He was analyzing the play, strategizing.
Dom went and stood next to him. “What’s going on?” he asked with a yawn.
Vincent briefly turned to face him. “Ah, Dominic. Feel refreshed?”
“A little.”
“Well, you’ve been asleep for over almost ten hours.”
“Ten? Man, that’s some afternoon nap.” The thought caused Dom to yawn. “Where’s Eddie?”
“He’s back at Sun.”
“Good old Eddie. Nose in the books. How’s Trixie?”
“Still asleep. It’s the best place for her right now.”
“Yeah,” Dom stared at the TV. “So what’s going on?”
Vincent shook his head. “Chaos,” he replied.
Dom concentrated on the TV. The news was showing downtown Chicago. The Loop. The streets were covered in water. The shaky camera was depicting some kind of fighting going on. Cops were hustling with what looked like gangbangers on the streets surrounding the I-Sore Tower.
“As you can see, the Chicago Police Department are having a tough time battling a wave
of what we’re told are members from various Central and South American drug cartels, who have apparently teamed up to storm Chicago’s Loop.” The reporter was decked in a bulletproof vest and helmet as if he was in the middle of a war zone. The rain was teeming down all around him as well as the cops and the gangbangers who were splashing through flooded streets attacking one another in hand-to-hand combat. In the background, sirens and bullhorn-amplified voices raged.
“The banks of the Chicago River have flooded,” the reporter continued over the madness, “which has made the work of the police all the more difficult. The rising water has also attracted wildlife to the city center. There have been numerous reports of snakes spotted swimming through the water, with some locals claiming to have been bitten, resulting in poisoning. Authorities are advising residents of Chicago to stay indoors during this crisis and to not enter the Loop at all. They also urge residents to stay well away from the snakes, and report any sightings. And if anyone is bitten, seek medical help immediately. Reporting from Chicago’s Loop, this is John Anderson.”
Dom watched the madness with an open mouth. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Both the Dragon Order and the Chaos Order clearly want to take control of the I-Sore and whatever is in there,” Vincent retorted.
“Ambrosia,” Trixie then said, walking up behind them with a tired gait.
They both spun to face her. “Trixie!” Vincent exclaimed. “Why aren’t you lying down?”
“That’s boring,” she replied.
“It’s for your own good.”
She rubbed her head. “Don’t lecture me, Dad. Please.”
Vincent showed her his palms. “Okay, okay.”
“What was that you just said, Trixie?” Dom asked. “Ambrosia?”
She nodded. “Ambrosia. It’s the name of the synthesized venom. I saw stacks and stacks of it in the I-Sore Tower. From what I can gather, they’re planning on inoculating people pretty soon.”
Vincent frowned. “But, I was under the impression Eddie was the only one who knew the formula. And he’s in our hands.”
Trixie shrugged. “Somehow they got the formula,” she said, chagrin stamped all over her face, “or they had it all along. And they were already in production mode. Looks like the Blood Order were looking to build an army of vamps and subsequent fangheads. Take this Great Unveiling thingy to the next level.”
Vincent’s jaw dropped. “So, that’s Benedict’s game. He wants the Ambrosia factory Leviah had set up. I wonder if the Chaos Order have any aspirations for Ambrosia.”
Trixie shrugged. “Probably.”
They turned back to the TV to watch more footage of fighting.
“Chicago is in disarray,” Vincent stated. “Flooding, snakes, cartel gangsters. It’ll be in total lockdown in mere days.”
“Where are the snakes coming from?” Dom asked.
Vincent shook his head. “I don’t know. Well, I’ve got a good idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Magdalena.”
“Magda-who?”
“Magdalena. She’s the head vampire of the Chaos Order.”
“She? You mean a chick?”
“God, you’re so sexist!” Trixie said with disgust.
Dom shrugged. “What did I say?”
“Yes, Dom. She’s a chick,” Vincent said with a sigh.
“I was under the impression all the children of this Count Mordor cat were male,” Dom stated.
“Moroz,” Vincent corrected. “And no, they’re not all male. Magdalena is very much female, but not human I’m afraid. Now, the snakes have to be of her doing.”
“How do you know?”
“She has an affinity with them. A lot of it is legend, but to cut a long story short, Magdalena is locked away in a secret location somewhere in Central and South America that very few know of. In an ancient Mayan temple known as the Temple of Snakes.”
“Oh, brother,” Trixie lamented, rubbing her forehead. “Not more of this stuff.”
“Hey, I’m trying to listen,” Dom said to her. “Carry on, Vincent.”
Vincent sighed. “It’s okay, myth and legend are not important right now. I’m almost certain the snakes are her doing and are fighting for the Chaos Order.”
“Are you trying to tell me that the Chaos Order and this Magdalena chick have sent the snakes on purpose as a type of weapon?” Dom asked, hardly believing what he was saying.
“That’s precisely what I’m telling you.”
Dom nodded. “Okay. That’s cool,” he said, showing Vincent his palms. Man, this guy’s nuts! Dom thought to himself, looking away.
“There’s only one way to stop this,” Vincent then said. “Magdalena must be destroyed. Only that will end the Chaos Order and put a stop to this madness.”
“We’ll go right away.” Trixie said.
Vincent frowned. “But, you’re not well enough to go, my dear.”
“I’m okay.”
“He’s right, Trixie,” agreed Dom. “Look at your hands.”
She glanced down at her bandaged hands, then slung them down by her sides. “They’re okay. They’ll heal in a few days, and I’ll be right as rain.”
“I wouldn’t mention rain,” said Dom.
Vincent shook his head. “No, no, I’m worried about you, Trixie.”
“We’ve gotta do something, Dad. Quick. We’ll have to hunt down this Magdalena before we can do anything anyway. That might take days if not weeks.”
“It’s a good point,” Dom said with a shrug.
Vincent sighed. “And how do you feel?” he asked Dom.
Dom nodded. “I’m feeling ready for the next round.”
“Come on, Dad,” Trixie pleaded, “we’re young and healthy. We can handle it.”
Vincent nodded. “The virtues of youth, eh? It’s been a long time for me.” He paused. “I suppose we don’t have any choice do we? Chicago is descending into chaos fast, and it will only get worse.”
“And it is what we do,” Trixie reminded him.
“Yes. Yes it is.” He sighed. “But, there’s something else you’ll need to do.”
“What’s that?” asked Dom.
“Once you’ve destroyed Magdalena, you’ll have to retrieve the relic she holds, which I believe are the Fangs of Moroz.”
“The Fangs of Moroz?” Dom echoed. “Man this is getting more bizarre by the minute.” He glanced back at Trixie, who shook her head as if to indicate she was thinking the exact same thing. Dom turned his attention back to Vincent. “So, come on, Vincent. Fill us in. You said you would. What in the hell are these relics? What do they do?”
Vincent nodded. “Yes, I better give you the backstory, hadn’t I? This is what I know.” He licked his lips, then spoke. “Count Moroz terrorized the Old World, gripping it in a plague of darkness. A group of vampire hunters known as the Holy Order hunted him down and slayed him. Their leader, Abraham, was the one who finally drove the stake through his wretched heart. But, what Abraham didn’t realize was that Moroz had children. And those children were under the guidance of Moroz’s servant, a necromancer by the name of Balthazar, also known as the Mad Monk.”
Dom turned to face Trixie, open-mouthed. Trixie rolled her eyes.
“Is that all true, Vincent?” Dom asked, staring at him through squinted eyes.
“Absolutely!” Vincent replied with a stern nod.
Dom got the hint that he might just have offended the old man. “Okay, okay, just checking. Please continue.”
Vincent mellowed and he carried on with his legend. “Balthazar was part of the Holy Order, but his true loyalties lay with Moroz. His treachery wiped out most of the Holy Order. Abraham was unaware of this all the way until he confronted Moroz as he slept. And just as he began hammering his stake through Moroz’s black heart, Balthazar appeared on the scene to save his master. He incapacitated Abraham and used his dark magic to place Moroz under a spell, just before he was fully destroyed. Balthazar managed to petrify Moroz�
��s remains, the small semblance of undead life still encapsulated within them. His eye, his fangs, his staked heart, his finger, and some of his powdered blood.”
“You mean that thing’s actually his eye?” Dom said, his features contorted in disgust. “Ew!”
Vincent’s back straightened. “Yes. Indeed, it is his eye. And it holds a remnant of the Count to this day. He’s waiting. Waiting for his resurrection. Each of the relics were then handed to his children for safekeeping, Balthazar informing them that although Moroz’s tyranny was over, he would one day return more powerful. Balthazar, an unholy seer, envisaged a time in the future of great turmoil and upheaval, a time of high technology. By then, the siblings would have reached adulthood and grown powerful. They were instructed to use the relics to resurrect their father and cloud the world in darkness. After this, they were secretly transported across the globe to spread their evil and darkness. There they were to build their own evil empires and eventually unite in a global order headed by their resurrected father.” Vincent paused. “That time is now. The time of the Great Unveiling.”
Dom puffed his cheeks. “Man, that’s some heavy crap!”
“You don’t believe all that, do you?” Trixie said to him.
“Well, er... I...”
“Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant,” Vincent stated. “It’s all true. And now, we are the only thing standing in the way of the Great Unveiling. We must retrieve those relics.”
Dom clicked his fingers. “I got it! Let’s just destroy that eye, and hey presto, no more Moroz. Job done and we can party!”
Vincent shook his head.
Dom began shaking his head alongside him, his grin melting. “No?”