Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  “SHIT,” Hank heard the second officer yell, though not through the radio. He dropped it a moment later, then actually managed to grab his weapon and yank it free. He was aiming in every direction, trying to draw a bead and finding none, when Hank heard a series of rapid thumps through the ceiling.

  The building’s roof.

  He would have cried out to warn the officer, but the figure who leapt from the rooftop fell too fast, too gracefully. The vamp landed flush on his target, burying his fangs into the back of the officer’s neck. He crumpled to the pavement like all his wires had been cut, and the vamp feasted. Likely, the bite had severed his spine and the officer had been dead before he hit the ground, but Hank couldn’t know that for certain, not really.

  “What’s happening out there?” Cato asked from the door as Hank turned away, wincing. It had all happened so fast, Cato and Luca were still standing by the door.

  Before Hank could bring himself to answer, his radio issued a series of sputtering hisses before the line abruptly cleared.

  “Hello in there,” a breathy, rasping voice said through the line. “You have the honor of speaking with Ahrkul Alsace. My fellow Slayers and I have dispatched your compatriots, though I suspect you already know that. You should also be aware that we have the building surrounded. All of that said, please respond so that we may negotiate your surrender.”

  Eyes meeting across the living room, Hank and Cato were under no delusions. The situation was bad, but surrender was most certainly not an option. Alsace and his Slayers had made that abundantly clear. If they could just hold out, maybe stall the vamps while they radioed for backup…

  Cato looked as if he was about to speak when Luca began to cry softly at his side. The hardened spector knelt beside the girl without hesitation, taking precious time to comfort her even as the building was being swarmed by murderous strigoi. It was a rare display of tenderness on his part, at least so far as Hank had ever seen. It also spoke to why Jeanine was so dedicated to her uncle.

  More importantly, it gave Hank an idea.

  “All right, Alsace,” Hank said into the radio. “Since we’re introducing ourselves, this is Sergeant Merriweather of PWD.”

  Cato eyed him curiously but said nothing as the radio squawked back with a response.

  “Good evening, Sergeant. Shall we discuss the terms of your surrender?”

  “Yeah, about that… We’ve got some frightened people up here, Alsace. Downright hysterical. You’re going to need to give us a few minutes to calm them down.”

  “I assure you, Sergeant, my people mean yours no harm.”

  “Kind of hard to sell them on that after what they just saw.”

  “A regrettable turn of events, indeed, but it was your men who provoked mine. Nevertheless, I shall allow you ten minutes to calm your people down.”

  “Thank you. Hopefully, we won’t need any longer than that.”

  “Hopefully not. I shall be in touch, Sergeant. Over and out.”

  By then Luca had stopping crying, her cheeks dried by Cato’s gentle touch. Only once he was sure the girl was okay did he turn to speak with his partner, their voices pitched low.

  “Not bad, ‘Sergeant Merriweather.’ What now?”

  Hank shrugged, then switched to PWD’s emergency frequency. “We hope like hell someone out there likes us enough to try something really, really stupid.” He spoke again into the radio. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Spector Smiley transmitting in the clear to all PWD personnel. My partner and I are holed up in Tanglereave’s Old Town district, about to be overrun by hostile forces identifying themselves as Steelskin Slayers. We are on the third floor of the apartment building across the street from Old Town’s only blood dispensary. Be advised, we have a human child with us. Repeat…”

  Hank repeated the call for backup two more times. By the time he finished they had eight, maybe seven minutes left. Hardly enough time to fortify the apartment even if they did have the numbers for a last stand. He was still considering what few options they had when Luca spoke up.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “I shouldn’t have called you. I was just so scared here by myself.”

  Cato wasn’t having any of it. “No, sweetheart, it’s all right. You did the right thing. Here, come and sit with me.”

  The final few minutes passed quickly. When at last they had all ticked away, the radio squawked as promised.

  “Are you and your people ready to surrender, Sergeant?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go with ‘no’ on that one. Sorry, Alsace.”

  A sigh could be heard through the receiver. “I suspected as much. Alas. But very well. We shall do this the hard way. Prepare to—”

  Whatever Alsace was warning them to prepare for—as if they didn’t already know—his voice was drowned out by a sudden screeching of tires. Wincing at the sound of it coming through the tinny speaker, Hank peered out the window just in time to see a small convoy barreling toward their position. The lead vehicle, some sort of cargo van modified with a cow catcher in place of its front bumper, closed the distance in a matter of seconds. Its course fixed, the speeding van homed in on the Slayers in the street like a guided missile. A few had the wherewithal to dive for cover, but Alsace and one of his men were standing at ground zero when the van made impact. Even from three stories up, the crunch of bone and cartilage as the strigs were mangled by the cow catcher was sickening.

  Two other vehicles—an unmarked PWD cruiser and a second van—followed the first. They came to a stop the more conventional way, tires throwing up plumes of white smoke behind them. Still at the window, Hank watched as, of all people, a heavily armed group of civilians emerged from the second van. The Slayers who dove for cover attempted to engage but were cut down in short order, the narrow avenue echoing with the sound of automated fire and the soft tinkle of brass afterward. Hank could hardly believe his eyes… or their luck.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Cato wondered from the door, where he had been keeping a tense vigil.

  “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me. At this point I’m willing to believe pretty much anything that doesn’t involve vampire death squads.”

  With the battle won, the civilians went into cleanup mode. They made short work of the bodies, piling them all into the first van before sealing it up, then set about collecting their shells. Meanwhile, a woman had emerged from the unmarked cruiser. For a moment, Hank was certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, there was no mistaking her bearing, to say nothing of the limp she had earned only hours earlier.

  “Damn,” Hank said. His voice was split between equal parts admiration and resignation. “There is no way in hell she is ever going to let us live this one down.”

  Cato furrowed his brows. “What? Who?”

  As if in answer to his question, a familiar voice addressed them through Hank’s radio.

  “Well, well, well,” said the voice of Ann Banner, Chief of Detectives, Police and Welfare Division. “How’s it going up there, boys? Either of you call for the cavalry?”

  * * *

  Hank and Cato emerged from the building with little Luca in tow to find Ann overseeing the cleanup of the street-turned-battlefield. Her people had already removed the bodies of both friend and foe, no doubt placing them among the vans. The bodies of Alsace and his Slayers would be incinerated forthwith; the PWD officers would receive municipal funerals with full honors. All that remained to clean up were the many shell cases still scattered about the pavement.

  “Make sure you get every last shell casing,” Ann called out. “And hurry up! The less evidence Erastes Ensanguine has to tie us to this, the better.”

  While Hank was bundling Luca into the backseat of the roadster, Cato made a beeline for Ann just a few feet away. “I gotta admit, Chief, you really saved our asses.”

  “I’m sorry, did I take a shot to the head this morning, too? Because, for a minute there, I coul
d swear I just heard you say I saved your ass. You, the great and infallible Ryen Cato.”

  “All right, all right,” Cato said. “Where’d you find all these trigger-pullers on such short notice, anyway?”

  “Oh, come on, Cato. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize the old guard when you see ’em?”

  Hank looked over his shoulder toward the source of the unfamiliar voice. He didn’t recognize the mountain of a man making his way over, shotgun resting against his shoulder, but Cato obviously did. His partner lit up in a way that Hank had rarely seen. “Rohner, you son of a bitch, I should have known.”

  The two embraced with much brotherly laughter and backslapping before Cato stepped aside. “Hank, this is John Rohner. He was my training officer back in the day.”

  “Way back in the day,” Rohner emphasized as he and Hank shook hands. The man’s hands were huge, as big as saucepans.

  “Well, whatever day it was, we owe you, big time. Hank Smiley.”

  “So, where did Ann find your dusty old ass, anyway?” Cato asked as Hank and Rohner finished up their introductions.

  Rohner just laughed, his massive shoulders jogging with the effort. “The Blue Cricket, of course. She came busting in and said she needed everyone who could still see straight to posse up.”

  “Is that right?” Cato asked, aiming a smirk Ann’s way.

  Ann shrugged, lifting her eyebrows. To Hank, it looked as if she were stifling a smirk of her own. “Where else was I going to find a group of ex-cops with their own firepower and vehicles on short notice?”

  Rohner grinned, his bald head gleaming even in the darkened street. “We may be old, but we ain’t out to pasture yet. We’ve still got some juice left in us when the shit goes down.”

  “Well, we’re about neck-deep in it these days,” Cato said. “So, thanks again.”

  “Anywhere, anytime.”

  Hank was about to suggest that they should finish up and get out of Old Town when a young woman poked her head out of Ann’s cruiser. Normally, he wouldn’t have given Ann’s driver a second glance. In this case, he could hardly believe his eyes.

  “Chief Banner?” Jeanine asked. “There are reports coming in of protestors marching on checkpoints. Oh, and something about a riot at the prison? I really think you should hear these.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment, Officer Gatz,” Ann called back. To Cato, she said, “Before you say anything—”

  “What the hell is she doing here? I specifically said she was not to be out in the field.”

  “Cato…”

  “Stay out of this, Hank,” Cato said before looking back to Ann. “And, Officer Gatz? You deputized her? Are you out of your damn mind?”

  “Are you finished?”

  Cato spread his arms, inviting her rebuttal.

  “Good. Because now is not the time for this. Did you really think I was just going to lie around in some hospital bed while my city burned? I needed a driver, and she was available. And don’t forget, we’re the only ones who responded to your partner’s distress call. Do the math for a minute and you’ll realize that my deputizing her and making her my driver basically saved your lives, dumbass.”

  “Ann, I swear to—”

  “Jeanine is a grown woman, Ryen,” Ann said. “She can do what she wants, and what she wants is to be PWD. So, yes, I’m going to do what I can to help her realize her dream, and, no, I don’t give a damn whether you approve or not.”

  Ann turned her back on Cato before he could respond. Instead, she called out to her ad hoc posse. “All right, everyone, let’s roll out! We’re done here.”

  Hank had rarely seen Cato so furious before. His partner was beside himself, words lost to him as he gnashed his teeth and fisted his hands at his sides. Whatever thoughts were going through Cato’s head, he was clearly doing his damnedest to reign them in.

  “Come on, buddy,” Hank said. He grasped Cato by the shoulders, steering him toward the roadster. “We gotta get moving. We can talk about it on the road. Want me to drive? I should probably drive.”

  16

  Crius Frenn allowed himself a small, satisfied smile as he stepped into the jail cell and heard the door close on its rattling track. So far all was going according to plan. His present situation might have suggested otherwise, but Crius was not overly concerned.

  Arrangements had been made. It was only a matter of time.

  Crius explored his cell (what little of it there was, anyway), comparing the accommodations to those of the PWD holding facility. The differences were numerous. The holding facility had been designed for temporary detention, the prison for long-term confinement. Detainees were grouped together by species in the holding facility, often in one large cell. Prisoners received their own cells with steel doors the wights claimed had been designed to resist even the strongest impact. Detainees did little more than mill about and wait for bail or to be transported. Prisoners, by contrast, were put to work virtually the moment they arrived, their schedules and out-of-cell assignments planned out in minute detail, often for months at a time.

  Not surprisingly, the security was vastly different, as well. The holding facility was staffed entirely by PWD officers, while the men and women who guarded the prison were professional jailers. They were empowered to use far greater means of force to ensure compliance (up to and including lethal measures), and the differences in the way they carried themselves apart from their PWD counterparts were obvious to all, from first-time offender to career criminal alike.

  Other security measures were far more sinister. True, the holding facility had been surrounded by a few hastily erected spotlights, though Crius was given to understand they were in response to the chaos of the day, not permanent fixtures. Not so the prison. Dozens of high-powered spotlights surrounded its grounds, their bright white beams lit day in and day out to deter even the thought of escape. Why waste the time considering such a thing when any gargoyle or vampire who successfully breached those walls would be turned to stone or ash the moment they stepped foot outside? The spotlights could even be controlled by the guards inside, allowing for pinpoint precision. The use of such lights was among the few exceptions allowed by the Founders’ Pact, though only when installed as part of a defensive array. For the condemned, it was simply a fact of life: Step outside without permission and you will get burned.

  And that was only the beginning. Taken as a whole, the prison was a truly formidable monument to the contempt wights held for gargoyles and vampires alike, as well as the cruelty they were willing to inflict.

  And yet, it was a universal truth that even the most heavily fortified structure was not without its weaknesses. Crius took comfort in that thought as he lay himself out on the cot and closed his eyes.

  Much later that evening, at the appointed hour, Crius awoke to the sound of his cell’s door unlatching. Another universal truth? That wights could easily be convinced to act against their own best interests for pathetically small amounts of money. No doubt some guard was heading off duty a bit sooner than usual this night, a wad of ill-gotten cash burning a hole in the pocket of his uniform.

  Crius stood from the cot and stretched, suppressing a grin as he stepped toward the unlocked cell door. Stage Two was officially underway.

  17

  Their retreat from Tanglereave went unchallenged, thanks in no small part to the lockdown, of all things. Even without sirens or lights, the roadster and the convoy spared not one second more than necessary as they raced out of the ‘Reave at speed.

  Cato was still stewing as Hank led the progression, setting the pace through the vampires’ tangled web of narrow, twisting streets.

  “Can you believe her?” Cato asked. “I mean, can you really, truly believe the gall? To deputize my niece behind my back, and put her in that position? Who knows how that all could have gone down?”

  Cato took no notice as Hank gave a little shake of his head, his eyes fixed forward. “I really should—”

  “I know! It’s unbel
ievable, right? After that whole bit this morning about burying the hatchet and working together, she goes and pulls this on me. She and I are going to have words, oh, believe you, me—”

  “Cato—”

  “Because you don’t just do that sort of thing, you know? Not with someone’s family, whose safety they’ve been entrusted with. She has no idea what I’ve gone through to live up to my oath to my sister, no idea, but she will when I get through with her, you can believe—”

  “Cato, would you shut the hell up for a minute,” Hank all but shouted. “Luca, I’m sorry, honey.”

  “No, it’s okay,” the girl said. “He was talking too much, anyway. It was really loud.”

  Hank shot Cato a pointed glance, at least as long as the convoy’s rapid retreat from Tanglereave allowed.

  “Fine. Fine, you’re all against me. I get it,” Cato huffed.

  “No one’s against you, you big baby,” Hank corrected him. “And, honestly, I’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while, and now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “You can’t fix everything, partner. You can’t control everything. I like working with you, I admit it. I like this job, and there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t feel like we’re doing what you said, making Meridia a better place.”

  “But?” Cato wondered cautiously.

  “But sometimes you’re just so damn insufferable about it. You’re not a one-man army. You’re not in this alone. We’re all here pulling our share of the load, and—”

  Narrowing his eyes now, Cato asked the same question with a slightly darker undertone. “And?”

  “And you’re too protective of Jeanine,” Hank said. “Granted, she’s a good secretary, but she could be a great PWD officer, even a detective. She has all the instincts and intangibles, and that’s in no small part thanks to you. You should be honored by that, not threatened.”