by R. G. Nelson
After what feels like hours of the seemingly endless darkness encountered on one- and two-lane country highways, we enter a small city near the location Hamad programmed into my phone. He pulls out a walkie-talkie to contact the follow van.
“You guys about ready?” he shouts through a little bit of static.
“We're good to go.” I recognize Meng’s calm voice coming from the other side. “See you at the rendezvous.”
“Roger that,” Hamad replies. I think they’re really getting into this whole clandestine mission thing. Like a bunch of kids playing at soldier. Except Hamad briefed us on the mission on the way up, and I know that what’s about to go down is very far from child’s play.
Hamad leans into the front area. “Pull over two blocks out from the State House–somewhere quiet.”
Not five minutes later, we’re on foot approaching the meet-up point. The van is off in the distance behind us, left in a legal parking spot on a relatively deserted side street. It’s 2 a.m., and mostly things are quiet, as we were counting on and need them to be. If all goes according to plan, we’ll be back in the city well before sun up. If. What we’re attempting is riskier than anything we’ve ever done before–just for the sheer gall it takes to pull it off. Luckily, we’re vampires.
Meng’s trio materializes stealthily out of the shadows; we’re all clad in dark attire rather than our usual crimson garb. We start walking without speaking a word. As we approach the large, historic structure before us, I feel that battle buzz begin to wash over me. I look around and know that others are similarly affected–it’s in our predatory programming, I guess. I want to get it under control; I want to be fully in command of myself for tonight, given the gravitas of the mission.
We’re almost there. Almost at the State House. Hamad speaks up softly, just loud enough for vampires to hear. “Okay. You guys take the walls. We'll go in the front.”
Meng confirms with a nod of his head and then adds, “We’ll take out the sprinklers and cameras first before you make your entrance. Give us a five-minute head-start.”
Finished speaking, he and the guys pull down masks over their faces. I don’t know who picked them out (my money’s on Hamad), but they apparently thought it would be funny to get cartoon characters. It’s super creepy. And with that, they break off. They split up, each one taking a different face of the building. I watch them go, moving freakishly fast over the space between us and the start of the façade. In the distance, I see the light from two patrolling guards’ flashlights disappear. Game on.
Soon, I make out their shapes climbing up the walls with ease and grace. I’m reminded of the first night I saw Vera doing that. Weird that after experiencing such earth-shattering horror and terror at the sight, all these months and months later, I’m now the same. With that thought in mind, I dig into my pack and pull out my own mask to put it in position. Great–Vera gave me the mask for that mouse. I take note that she has the matching female version flipped up over her hair. I see her watching me with a smile on her face as I put mine up on my head, ready to be pulled down when needed. Glad she’s finding amusement here.
Hamad’s watching his wrist piece like a hawk. “And … time’s up.”
“Let’s go,” Jesús urges enthusiastically.
We head out, aiming directly for the front entrance. The two guards inside are practically asleep. I can tell by their slowed heartbeats and deep breathing. I guess even with all concerns about terrorism and the chaos going on in the city (and other major urban centers), this place has been relatively untouched. I wonder if that was Joseph’s doing. Whatever the reason, these guys are definitely about to have a rude awakening.
Just outside the door, Hamad asks us, “So, you guys wanna do this the hard way or the easy way?” His devious smile warns of imminent danger for the humans.
Jesús quips, “The fun way?” before pulling his mask down. The rest of us follow suit and cover our faces as well. Hamad has the wise-cracking rabbit (how appropriate) while Jesús has that bear who likes honey.
Seconds later, Hamad throws the door open with a bang and Jesús rushes through. The guards are awake instantly, but moving sluggishly–unluckily for them because Jesús and Hamad (and even Vera, I see with surprise) already have their guns out. For a government building, I’d expected more security–or at least more competent security.
“What the hell are you guys–,” the first guard begins.
Bang-bang! He’s cut off and cut down by twin reports from Hamad’s pistol. Bang! Jesús takes out the second guard. Blood begins to flow across the floor; it’s really distracting me.
Hamad’s voice tears through my rising bloodlust, “Teams of two. Let's go!” As he speaks, one hand is inside his backpack, and he pulls out a Molotov cocktail. A moment later, it’s alight. He throws it at the wooden paneling near the entrance. It explodes and burns intensely, little bits of oily fire clinging to the surface of the wall. The hot, acrid aroma penetrates into my nostrils, singeing them and almost causing me to turn away–but I know that I’ll heal.
The dead guards beginning to be licked by the spreading flames won’t have that luxury. I’m disappointed in myself for getting aroused by the blood before–these guards didn’t do anything to deserve this. They were just doing their jobs, probably trying to support a family. The wedding band on the closest one’s hand generates a special pang of guilt in me. He was a husband, maybe a father, doing work not too far off from what my own father used to do, but my cell took them out without a second thought: They are just more human pawns cut down in the name of the Vampirist agenda, whatever that proves to be.
“Wooo!” Jesús cheers at the growing inferno like a kid who’s sneaking and playing with firecrackers for the first time.
Hamad beams with pride. “My secret: a little dish soap. Really helps it stick.”
Overhead, the sprinkler system sputters, but nothing comes out. No alarms sound either. “Atta boy, Meng,” I hear Jesús’ voice in approval behind me as Vera and I head away. This building is in serious trouble: Already, the flames have turned the wood near the entrance into glowing tinder. Deep in the bonfire, they burn somewhere between the sun’s luminescent orange and an icy white. The clear, shimming heat of the base contrasts heavily with the acrid, dark smoke pouring from the top of the conflagration.
Far down the corridor, an unfortunate staffer working late into the night peeks into the hallway cautiously. I guess he heard all the commotion. I’m almost incredulous: What is it about humans that causes them to investigate trouble instead of running away? Then again, I guess I was no different. I dated trouble. This guy’s folly was just taking a peek.
I can imagine what we must look like: two armed, cartoon-masked figures approaching with fire and dead bodies behind us. We must look like death. As the flames dance in his widening brown eyes, his sense of self-preservation kicks in. Needless to say, he drops his briefcase and runs. I blur up to him at full vampire speed and render him unconscious before he can get his mobile phone out, fighting the urge to tear into his jugular.
I figure that either I subdue him quickly (and hopefully without lasting injury) or else one of the others would do it their way, likely with a lot more brutality. Vera notes my restraint with a questioning tilt of her head, but doesn’t say anything. She’s not pleased, but the guy didn’t see anything that could identify us or put us in danger, so what’s the harm in letting him live another day? After all, we’re not allowed to drink their blood tonight, so the rest of the cell shouldn’t care.
Now we move quickly from room to room, setting everything afire as we go. I try to keep Vera close, as if somehow what I’m doing is okay if she’s there with me. The fires we’re creating throw off heat that feels good. I find myself enjoying this new source of warmth. It’s alm
ost as good as blood, except that it doesn’t penetrate down deep in the same way. Still, a wary part of me can’t help but notice the sinister, flickering glow cast on her by the rising inferno. I imagine that I must look the same, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. My angel is all business.
Where there’s a lot of wood, we use the cocktails, thinking that it’ll go up easier. Where there’s not, we use the incendiary grenades. We encounter only a few people, mostly hidden under desks and such, and so I either knock them out or let them run away. From their hiding spots, they didn’t see us moving at unnatural speeds, and the police are likely on their way already anyway. I don’t see any issue with letting them live, and though I’m pretty sure that I pick up furtive looks of disdain from her, Vera doesn’t verbally dispute it. But from the screams I hear elsewhere, I doubt the same courtesy is being extended by the others.
She keeps the time. We are aiming to be back in front five minutes after first contact. With the cameras out and alarm systems down, we figured it would take 2-3 minutes for the fires to be spotted and at least another 2-3 for emergency responders to arrive. We make it out in four: amazing what you can accomplish when you’re a vampire.
We’re not alone for long. As we walk away, the others soundlessly emerge like ghosts from the shadows and join us. No one says a word; we bask in the silence and listen to the crackling of the growing pyre fading behind us. Though the wind is blowing in the other direction, I know that even humans could pick up the smoky reek filling the hot air around us. While we don’t vamp out yet to be on the safe side, I’m thankful that this isn’t a party city–it’s so early in the morning (or so late at night) that no outside spectators are around to observe our activities. This should give us the extra minute or two that we need to blend back into society.
Unfortunately, we hear the inevitable sirens in the distance–sooner than we expected–and hurry to pull off our masks to begin our transformation back to everyday, law-abiding citizens (at least, that’s our camouflage). I imagine the scene we must look: covered in grime and soot, almost blending into the night except for our ice-blue eyes and dark shapes being silhouetted by the now raging inferno behind us. If this were a movie, this scene would be shot in slow motion and have some slick soundtrack set to it. But it’s not. It’s real life. And people just died.
More importantly, I get the sense that this action just threw down the proverbial gauntlet to the government. As crazy as the streets already are, burning down the seat of a state government will only up the ante. The authorities can’t afford to ignore this or deal with us in half-measures any more. Like Caesar before: This is our crossing of the Rubicon, only ours is a river of blood and fire.
I feel weird about all the humans that will be stuck in the cross-fire without really understanding what’s going on–kids like Franklin, who just want to feel like they belong for once … like they matter. Not to mention all the others that will be affected, the police that’ll be involved in trying to control the situation … their families, the random civilians that will become the unavoidable collateral damage that really was somehow avoidable. All these will get caught up in what will certainly be a category five storm of shit. I know that at this point there’s no going back any more for the Movement … or the militia. There will be no resolution without one side caving or self-destructing, and since humans don’t even know that the Vampirists exist, I’m not optimistic for them.
As if on cue to my thoughts, there’s a loud explosion behind us. I turn, shocked, in time to catch an eruption of fire and debris tearing through the center of the state building. I’m aghast at how fast a mostly brick, stone and cement building can go down; the inferno must have hit a gas line or something. I begin to ponder the meaning of such timing with my inner musings, but then I’m distracted by Jesús laughing. It really irks me; I’m not sure where the humor comes from in this situation.
I can’t help but think: so much for my attempts to save all those people. The thought of their deaths produces a weird sensation in me. I can’t tell if its remorse, or pity, or anger. The guards I somehow find a little easier to rationalize–being in harm’s way is their job, and they would have tried to hurt us. But those other people didn’t deserve to die for just being in the wrong place tonight. I had hoped to avoid having their blood on my hands, but somehow they ended up dead anyway. It really hammers home just how high the stakes are here. The childhood adage about the infamous road paved with good intentions keeps lurking in the back of my head, questioning the direction I’m headed.
Suddenly, the sirens are much closer. Hamad turns serious. “Everyone move!” My brain turns to action.
We rush to the van, conscious of prying eyes that might be stealing glances from behind curtained windows. I feel constrained by human speed, especially given the rapidly approaching sirens. I click once to unlock the door and then remember to double click to unlock everyone else’s. They pile in the back, disappearing from human sight into the murkiness within. I can see flashing lights reflecting off the cars parked on the main street perpendicular to ours; they’re just heartbeats away now.
I’m at the front with the driver’s door ajar, trying to appear to be just another inconspicuous person out for a late-night drive, when the lead car goes by. The driver of the first patrol car whizzes by focused on the blaze ahead, which is good because even in the crappy reflection off the car window, I can see a ring of grime etched by soot and smoke around where my mask was. So far, so good. I have one foot in the door when the second cop car passes. The driver is screaming manically into his radio, though even with my vampire hearing, I can’t make out what he’s saying through the closed windows and blaring sirens. His evident distraction, though, lets me know that I’m practically in the clear. Only one more siren is giving off that mechanical, whiny increase in frequency that indicates a rapid approach.
I finish slipping inside and close the door. We should be in the clear now, but there’s an anxious feeling in the back that spills into the front seat. But still no one has spoken … no one has dared to break the silence. It’s like the vampire equivalent of everyone holding their breath in suspense. I start to pull my seatbelt on and then stop, almost smiling by the reflexive human movement so completely unnecessary for us. I even have the key already in the ignition when this already hellish night takes a deep dive straight for the inner ring of Hades.
Two seconds. That’s all it took for the third vehicle to pass the head of our side street at its frantic pace. That’s all it took for me to realize that half of my charade is up, that I’ll now be wanted, pursued … hunted. Two seconds. That’s all it took for the roving, scanning eyes of the veteran Agent Taylor to connect with mine. That’s all it took for both of us to register a flicker of recognition in each other … for us both to quickly move from shocked surprise to suspicion and then to action. I don’t know why he’s this far up or how he responded so quickly to our attack–if he’s on the Movement task force, I would’ve thought that he’d be distracted by all the action back in the city.
“Oh, crap,” I let slip instinctively as I hurry to turn the key in the ignition. The engine catches and rumbles to life. The sound seems deafening, but I guess the time for stealth has now passed.
I turn and look back over my shoulder at the group to explain the bad news. But Hamad’s focused, ice-blue eyes are peering out of the darkness–he’s seen him, too. We stare at each other, listening. A screech of tires: brakes. Sirens suddenly not moving away from us any longer. An engine revving accompanied by another peel of tires: a u-turn, executed in an aggressive manner straight out of a videogame.
“Not good. Not good,” I begin to whisper under my breath.
Hamad urges quickly, “Adam, go!”
I come to life. I hit the pedal, twist the wheel and add my own screeching u-turn to the sounds echoing of
f the brown bricks and closed windows of the sleepy late-night block. I push the engine for all its worth; unfortunately, it doesn’t respond as I’d like. Big vans are apparently not made for speed. In my rearview mirror, I see Taylor’s unmarked federal cruiser turn in behind me. A single light flashes from his dashboard, but that doesn’t stop me from making out him yelling into his radio. I can’t hear him either, but I don’t have to. I know exactly what he’s saying.
“Feds,” Hamad says, shaking his head with eyes fixated on his side mirror.
So we race. Several other cars pull in next to Taylor and give chase. Okay, I have three total on me. I need to lose them before more join, or worse, they get a helicopter involved. I just hope like hell those are all busy being used back in the city, but I’ve already had one unpleasant let down tonight.
I hear Hamad screaming into his walkie-talkie for the other cell to ditch their van and find alternate transportation. The authorities might be looking out for accomplices. I tell myself to leave those worries to him and focus on driving, though I steal a quick glance into the back to search out Vera. Her eyes are there, waiting for mine. Though I know she means to be reassuring, just being reminded that it’s her on the line, too, adds a tremendous extra pressure that I really don’t need right now. I wish like hell Jesús hadn’t dumped this driver role on me.
I turn a corner sharply, almost taking the van to two wheels. Mental note: vans don’t turn well either. I’ll have to add not flipping us over onto the list of things to avoid in the minutes ahead. I see with initial dismay that I’m now heading into oncoming traffic. It’s late and there isn’t much, but it’s enough to be nerve wracking. I just hope my pursuers are also rattled by this.
“We need to lose them–fast.” Hamad, stating the obvious.