by J. R. Rain
While those displays in the States lacked the ‘gravitas’ of a self-immolating world leader, it got the message across. Public animosity toward vampires dwindled even if whispers still circulated questioning our motives. With the exception of the Dominion, most of us simply grew tired of having to live in hiding or reinventing ourselves every twenty years and moving from city to city before anyone noticed we didn’t grow old. My kind traded information for guarded acceptance, with some even allowing scientists to study them. Companies have even started selling synthetic alternatives to blood, though I find them ghastly… especially that carbonated monstrosity, Syn-X. Even their non-fizzy version is horrendous. Blood should not taste like wild cherry.
One hour drags into the next while I wander the park. Once my search spiral hits the edge of the park along all sides, including the canal to the south, I resign myself to accept that the Dominion isn’t here already—or I’ve somehow missed them. Option two isn’t terribly likely, although I’ve been wrong before and the Dominion have proven to be clever as hell.
I catch a reasonably athletic looking man alone and ‘convince’ him to let me feed. Speaking of scientific research, they tried to find a way to recreate the healing effect our saliva has on human tissue. Our bite marks close within a few seconds of extracting our fangs. Alas, if we spit in a cup, and they smear it on a wound, it doesn’t work. I think it’s a partially psychic phenomenon, but that doesn’t stop the humans from trying like hell to turn our drool into magic first aid spray.
And yeah, sure, forcing people to submit to feeding could be viewed as unethical I suppose. But, it doesn’t cause any permanent harm—most of the time. And we usually remove the person’s memory of the event. I’d certainly rather be a human fed on by a vampire than a pig fed on by a human. The pig doesn’t get to walk away.
In the absence of an extreme event—like falling out of an airplane—it normally doesn’t take much to satisfy my nutritional needs. Maybe a pint a day. That, plus snacking on normal food is plenty to keep me going.
My hunger satiated, I wipe his memory clean of the last few minutes, and retreat to a tree roughly a hundred feet from the bridge along the trail, and wait. It is eminently tempting to pull out the cell phone and find a game to kill time, but that would be reckless. I’ve still got four hours to wait, and that’s plenty of time for hostile actors to move into position here.
Sitting up a tree for hours isn’t exactly the most awesome thing a spy can do, but it beats that time I went to Iraq. Honestly, I have no damn idea how humans tolerate so much heat and sunlight. And sand. Good grief it gets everywhere, into everything. Half my equipment stopped working because sand got into it. Maybe that’s why those countries in that region feel like they’re stuck back in time. High tech stuff just can’t handle the damn sand. And heat.
A little after five, I need to find the ladies’ room. Dammit.
The woods are thick enough… and my bodysuit has strategic Velcro.
And yes, there are scientists investigating potential applications for vampire urine. I swear, humans have too much free time. And don’t even get me started on what the adult film industry is doing.
Soon, I’m back up in the tree again, watching… waiting…
At 5:54 p.m., I finally catch sight of Jake meandering along the trail among the crowd. He doesn’t stand out much in a long navy coat, jeans, and sneakers. His hair’s longer than the photos I have of him, almost touching his shoulders. It’s a good look for him, I think. I’m sure he wears the baggy clothes to conceal his physique. Not that he’s a weightlifter, but as a CIA field operative, he needs to stay in much better shape than your average IT worker.
The Agency’s requirements for fitness are pretty much a joke for me, but they are based on human limitations after all.
Jake reaches the target bridge and stops at the halfway point, leaning on the railing to admire the water passing beneath. He glances around, no doubt looking for a woman matching the photo from the dating site. It almost seems like he’s afraid ‘she’ won’t show up and his date will be a disaster. He’s totally into character. Or I’m having a total crush on him.
Not now, dammit. At present, he’s my mission objective. Once he’s back in Langley, things could change, but I can’t worry about what may or may not happen days in the future. The next ten minutes are more important.
I stare at him, trying to will him to look in my direction. Without eye contact, my psychic abilities aren’t terribly effective. But even ordinary humans can sometimes stare at another person with intent, and make that person look toward them...
Bingo!
Jake glances at me… or at least into the trees around me. As soon as I gaze into his soulful eyes, this compulsion to spend time with him comes out of nowhere. I haven’t experienced anything like this feeling since I’d been what humans call a teenager and saw David Bowie on TV for the first time in 1969. Can’t dwell on that now, though. I insert an urge into his brain to walk down the trail toward me. He furrows his brow in mild confusion, but pushes off the railing and starts heading my way. If any hostiles followed him to the park, they’re going to know that we’ve gone off script as soon as he leaves the bridge.
I slip out of the branches and drop to the ground, crouching low. A handful of tourists pass by, snippets of Japanese, English, and French mixed in with the German. Jake strolls into view at a bend in the path, avoiding a heavyset guy in a blue-and-yellow-striped shirt. My contact pauses after a few steps with this bewildered expression like he can’t figure out why he left the bridge. I poke him again with an urge to keep going.
Jake, I say, telepathically. Keep walking down the path. I’m close.
He looks around, wondering why I’m not following the plan.
You’re compromised. The Dominion knows you’re an asset. They’re probably right behind you or nearby. I’ll explain in the car.
Jake nods at nothing in particular. On the outside, he’s the perfect picture of calm control. Internally, he’s screaming f-bombs and trying to figure out where he made a mistake that gave him away. A glint in the woods draws my attention to a skinny purple-haired woman up a tree with a rifle. The girl’s as pale as chalk with red eyes, so I’m certain she’s a night walker… or a goth with contacts. But goths don’t generally accessorize with a Heckler & Koch PSG1. Oh, that’s going to sting… Rustling and crackling comes from the woods on either side where at least two more Dominion agents rush through the underbrush. It sounds like the dance of drunken bulls to me, but neither Jake nor the few tourists in the area seem to notice.
Sniper chick isn’t going to miss with that thing at such close range, barely 200 feet. She’s already drawing a bead on Jake, no doubt because they don’t want his information getting out and they’re assuming their trap sprang empty.
Before she can shoot, I burst out of the underbrush into a sprint at Jake. I hit him like a linebacker, dragging him off the trail into the weeds barely an instant before a loud boom devours the thwap of a bullet striking dirt. The shot throws all the tourists into a panic of screaming and running.
Jake oofs and curses.
I’m already bouncing to my feet and dragging him upright. A man in a T-shirt and jeans appears around a tree, firing a burst at me from an MP5. He hits me in the chest, somehow managing to miss my heart with three bullets. The pain of red hot irons piercing my body drops me to my knees as my legs involuntarily go weak.
Jake draws a Glock from behind his back and returns fire while hunkering down behind a tree. Snarling, I fling myself back to my feet and charge at the guy while pulling my sword. The instant he shifts aim to me, Jake puts a bullet into his cheek, stunning him so he doesn’t shoot me in the second and a half it takes me to close the distance. His attempt to dodge looks more like a seizure due to the brain damage, and I take his head with a clean swipe, snagging the MP5 out of his grip with my left hand.
Boom.
An explosion of splinters hits me in the face from the tree.
<
br /> Shit!
I dive to the ground and rapid-crawl back to Jake.
He grabs my arm, pulls me up, and sprints with me into the woods.
“Avoid the trail.”
“No shit,” he mutters.
“Sniper,” I rasp.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
The bitch fires at us again and again, though her bullets hiss overhead or go wide, striking the trees we’re weaving around. Tourist screams grow distant, but the tromping of people running behind us closes in. Gunfire erupts on the right, kicking up sprays of dirt nearby. A bullet nails me in the back of the left thigh, and the bastard thing lodges against the bone… a hot ember stuck in place.
Son of a bitch...
I stifle a scream and crash into a tree on purpose, whirling around it for cover with only my left arm and one eye exposed. Three men in black sweaters, jeans, and wool caps rush at us, all with MP5s. They’re moving in slow motion, which gives them away as humans. Probably under mental control, but as unfortunate as that is for them, I don’t have the time to deprogram them. I put a burst from my new MP5 into each man’s chest as easy as paper targets on a firing range, grab Jake, and resume running before the third guy’s halfway done collapsing to the ground. Only, with a bullet in my leg, I’m even slower than a human… but we have enough trees in the way to block any more sniper fire. Speaking of trees, a .308 round should’ve gone all the way through my leg. Probably caught a ricochet instead of a direct hit.
When we reach the end of the trail, I toss the MP5 to Jake and let go of his hand before dashing over to the car. He hops in the passenger side, aiming at the trail we just came from while I start the engine and drop it in gear. As soon as I pull away from the curb, he slams his door and leans back with a heavy exhale. A tiny point of agony slithers along a wound channel in my thigh, the bullet creeping out.
“Holy shit… we made it,” rasps Jake.
“Yeah.” I clench my jaw. “Need a minute before we do the talking thing.”
He looks over. “You’re hit.”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“What? You’ve got three holes in your chest.” He blinks. “Oh. Right. Never mind.”
“The one in my leg’s actually worse.” I cringe and gasp.
He checks the side mirror. “Need me to help dig the slug out? And we’ve got a tail.”
“Shit. No… the bullet’s leaving on its own.”
“Drive faster or we’re both going to have a few more to get rid of. And one of us can’t regenerate.”
I peer up at the mirror. Two smallish black Mercedes weave among slower traffic, clearly trying to catch up to us. I glance at my handsome passenger. “Might want to put on your seat belt.”
Chapter Six
A Quiet Handoff
Despite driving a stolen car with guns in it, the primary reason I’m worried about police is that I don’t want them to get caught in the crossfire.
Dominion agents wouldn’t break off the chase if the cops got involved, they’d shoot them, too. Normally, if I happened to get pulled over, I would simply send the cops on their way, but I don’t want the police inserting themselves into my present mess. I might get a reprimand when I return home if cops wind up dead, but the only way I’d get in real trouble is if I actively tried to kill noncombatants.
Not my style.
I accelerate and whip down the first left turn we reach.
Jake crashes against the door. “Oof!”
“Not a big fan of seat belts?”
“When this thing goes upside down in a ditch, I’d like to crawl out.”
“If you skip the belt, by the time we end up flipped in a ditch, you’ll already be out of the car.”
Grumbling, he clicks the seatbelt on.
“Don’t worry, I’ve driven before.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring.”
I smile. “Once. In 1878.”
He stares at me. “They didn’t have cars then.”
“I said driving. Didn’t specify it was a car.”
A few gunshots go off behind us, but nothing hits us.
“You’re fucking with me.”
“I am.” I steer around a guy on a moped and swerve into oncoming traffic for the last forty feet before another left turn, then take a right at the end of the block.
Our pursuers stay with us, though they play bumper cars with various parked vehicles and one newspaper machine.
At another gunshot, I pull a hard right and floor it, doing eighty down a small residential street. Our tires scream in protest while I slide sideways around a corner, ignoring a red light. I put the Beemer between a box truck and a sedan with inches to spare on both sides. And by inches to spare, I mean I knock a mirror off the sedan. The traffic appears to have momentarily stymied the Dominion behind us.
“You’re a vampire, right?”
“Yes.”
He gestures at the back. “Why are they shooting at you? Isn’t that rather pointless?”
“Not entirely.”
I hit the brakes a little too hard when another red light catches us a few cross streets later with no good way to get past it. Grr. We’re stuck four car lengths back. The guy in the box truck behind us hops out and storms up to my window with a cricket bat or something in his hand. He rears back to smash my window, but freezes when I grab the MP5 from Jake and point it at him.
Get back in your truck before that paddle of yours finds a nice warm home in a body cavity.
My telepathic message appears to frighten him more than the gun. He screams, drops the bat and runs off. I note in my side mirror that he’s already well past his truck, still running down the street, still screaming. I grin to myself.
“Subtle.”
I hand Jake back the MP5. “He got the point. And to answer your question, if they hit me in the head, it’ll knock me out for a few hours. They can do whatever they want to me then.”
“Oh.” He eyes the door mirror. “They’re still there. Ten cars back maybe. I’m guessing this isn’t going to be a quiet handoff and I go back to work tomorrow.”
“Nope. Like I said, you’re compromised. The Dominion knows who you are. This entire thing was a setup.”
“Huh?”
“The information you found… they leaked on purpose specifically to lure me here. Your cover’s already blown.”
“Shit.”
I grin at him. “Look on the bright side. It means you’re going home. And you get to meet me.”
A bullet shatters our rear window, spraying us with glass bits. Horns go off everywhere. A few cars in front of our pursuers pull into the oncoming lane and U-turn to get away from gunfire.
“Lucky me.” Jake ducks, aiming the MP5 between the seats out the back.
The light finally turns green. The instant there’s enough room, I pull out from behind the car in front of us and stomp on the gas, driving in as random a swerve as possible. Jake trades bullets with the cars behind us until he runs out of ammo. Nothing hits us, and if he managed to hit them, it didn’t do much.
Time to get creative.
I focus entirely on the environment, trying to disregard the distraction of having people shooting at us. To get past another congested intersection, I swerve left across the road onto the sidewalk, putting oncoming traffic between us and the Dominion. Jake emits this noise somewhere between an inflatable boat losing air and a scream as I slalom between people, trees, tables, and one older guy on a giant tricycle. A pedestrian forces me onto the street for a few seconds, and I catch the glare of a truck’s oncoming headlights… painful enough that I almost flinch away. For a few seconds, we play a game of chicken.
“Grr. Why do they insist on having lights on during the day?” Once around another group of pedestrians, I pull back onto the sidewalk, yanking the parking brake to spin the car in a drift that lines us up with an alley, then gun it, the walls teasing at the tips of the side mirrors.
“You almost hit a truck head on and you’re worried ab
out daytime headlights?”
“Call it an observation.”
“Fine, whatever. By the way, this alley isn’t meant for cars.”
“Funny how that can change.”
He shakes his head. Admittedly, my new passenger seems unfazed by the high speed chase. Not his first rodeo, I think.
Behind us, one pursuer overshoots the turn, while another crashes straight into the corner of a brick building. My psychic feelers stay green, so I hold speed as the alley draws to an end and shoot across a four-lane road into the next section of alley.
“That did not just happen.”
“Never played Frogger?”
“And you did not just say that.”
I grin. “Relax. I’m psychic.”
“Now you tell me.”
Okay, I like this guy. Like, a lot. Definitely don’t want to get him killed.
At the next street, I slow enough to manage a sliding right turn into traffic. Seconds later, the random urge to slow down even more hits me, so I heed it. At the end of the block, we pass a parked police car. By some miracle, he doesn’t decide to come after us for having a shot-out rear window. Maybe he didn’t notice.
I keep going at normal traffic speed, but take a few more turns for concealment before making a deliberate effort to head west out of Munich.
“Nice driving,” says Jake. He’s trying to sound cool, but I detect the tremor in his voice. He wouldn’t be human if he wasn’t a bit nervous.
“Trained by the best.”
He laughs. “We probably had the same training course, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“My reflexes are a little sharper than most. For what it’s worth, the instructor screamed louder than you did.”
“I didn’t scream. I emoted.”
“Well, you emoted like a little girl.”
Jake shakes his head and dusts broken glass off his jacket, then proceeds to wipe down the MP5 for fingerprints and toss it into the back seat.
“Well, you are a vampire. Maybe I should be scared.”