She glanced at her watch. “It’s eleven-thirty.”
“Great. Now we wait.”
The minutes ticked by slowly and Mac, having given his word, remained standing, ready to stake the last vampire should it appear. By one in the morning, he was wondering just how long Lanie was willing to wait to prove her theory.
One-thirty turned out to be her limit. “I guess I was wrong,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I made you do all that.” She waved a hand at the staked bodies. “I think I’d like that drink now.”
“No problem.” Feeling magnanimous, he once again draped his arm across her shoulders as he steered her out of the back room and toward the hallway door.
They were almost there when Mac heard the ripping sound.
Chapter 6
What—?”
“Ssshhh.” Mac silenced Lanie as they both froze to listen. Everything in him argued that he’d imagined the sound. It wasn’t a body bag being ripped open from the inside, and the shuffling he now heard was definitely not a dead guy, aka vampire, moving around.
There came a crashing noise and beside him, Lanie jumped. Keeping her behind him, Mac pulled his gun and turned to face whatever came out of the back room.
It happened so fast, Mac later couldn’t remember thinking about it. The researcher he’d not staked burst through the open doorway, gaunt and deathly pale, with a manic, crazed gleam in his eyes. Snarling and hissing, he never even paused as he raced toward them, his lips drawn back tight against teeth that were so dingy and brown, the pearly white fangs glowed bright by comparison.
Instinctively, Mac pulled the trigger, not stopping until what had once been the man’s head lay spewed across the room. Mac stared at the still form and made a mental note—one .45 round might not affect a vampire, but eight rounds fired in rapid succession could decapitate one. It was good to know.
With the ease of long practice, he ejected the spent clip and replaced it with the spare from his pocket. He jacked a round into the chamber and waited, wondering if the corpse would stay dead this time.
Then he noticed a movement behind him and turned.
“Whoa. Easy does it.” He caught Lanie with his free arm, just as her knees buckled, and eased her to the floor, not liking how pale her face had turned. Afraid she might pass out, he pushed her head down toward her knees and absently stroked her back as he returned his attention to the headless corpse lying less than ten feet away.
He couldn’t have admitted to anyone how he felt at that moment. Only one thought coursed through his mind, chasing away all others, leaving him in a state of shock.
Vampires are real! Oh, shit.
After a couple of minutes, a soft voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you all right?”
He looked at her. “I should be asking you that question.”
“I’m okay. Too much excitement and not enough blood sugar.”
“I need to make sure that no one else is planning to come after us. Will you be okay by yourself?”
Slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed, she nodded. “Be careful.”
His search was thorough as he double-checked the other bodies, making sure each stake was solidly in place. He didn’t know the “vampire rules,” didn’t know what would happen if the stakes were removed, but he didn’t want to find out. As far as he was concerned, the best thing would be to burn the bodies—ASAP.
He needed to see if Dirk was back and talk to him, but knew that conversation would take a while. If he found the whole concept of vampires hard to believe, so would Dirk. First, though, he wanted to get Lanie back to her room.
He found her where he’d left her, still sitting on the floor, turned so she didn’t have to stare at the corpse. At least some of the color had returned to her face. Slipping his gun into his waistband, he crouched beside her.
“Hey, how we doing?”
“Better.” She offered him a weak smile that didn’t quite chase away the haunted look in her eyes. “How much tequila did you say you have left in that bottle? I don’t think one shot’s going to be enough.”
He could relate to that. He stood, pulled her to her feet, and then slipped his arm around her waist, using the excuse of steadying her, though it wasn’t entirely true. He found the warmth of her body comforting.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, not waiting for her to reply but opening the door and propelling them both into the hallway. He pulled the door shut behind them and hoped no one would go in there before he’d had a chance to explain.
Mac kept his arm about her until they reached her room. Once inside, he made her sit on the edge of the bed while he went into the bathroom to fetch a dampened facecloth. Then, placing a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up so he could gently wipe her cheeks, hoping the coolness of the cloth would help her feel better. Their eyes met and the world faded away. For several long seconds, Mac couldn’t move, lost in a sudden whirlpool of confusing emotions. The impact of such intimacy was more than he could handle, so he cleared his throat and awkwardly held the cloth out to her as he took a step back.
“Listen, I should go explain things to Dirk and make arrangements to burn the bodies. I don’t want any more surprises.” He studied her face, trying to judge her thoughts. “You’re okay, right?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Go do what you have to do.”
He smiled, liking that she could be both feminine and tough. “Okay.”
He’d reached the door when she stopped him.
“Mac? Will you come back here when you’re through?”
“You bet,” he said, smiling. “I promised you that drink, remember?”
Lanie watched Mac go and resisted the urge to run after him, primarily because she wasn’t sure her legs would support her. Unbidden came the image of the depraved creature that had run out of the storage room. It had behaved just like the images of her father and Burton on the security tape from the night they arose. Consumed with bloodlust, she deduced, because all vampires rose needing to feed.
She shuddered at the thought. The reality of vampires was not nearly as glamorous, or romantic, as the books made out, and instead of feeling elated that her theory about the dead men was right, she felt sick to her stomach. At least they were well and truly dead now—unlike her father and Burton.
Dazed, she tried to grasp a new reality. Her father was a vampire. A vampire!
A surge of restless energy hit her and Lanie pushed herself to her feet. She carried the facecloth back to the bathroom and was about to hang it up, when she caught herself staring at it instead, reliving the memory of Mac caressing her face. The man was pure carnal temptation, she thought, absently lifting the cool cloth to her suddenly too-hot face once more.
He also had a girlfriend, she reminded herself harshly. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, looking pale and disheveled. Even on her best day, she was no competition for Babycakes. She didn’t know why she felt the need to make the comparison, but the thought was as sobering as a cold shower.
Hanging up the cloth, she took a moment to brush her hair and apply new makeup, all the while telling herself the effort was futile. Then she went back into the room, picked up her father’s journal, and sat in the big chair to read. She went back to the beginning and read the first entry several times before realizing she had no idea what it said. She just couldn’t focus her attention. What was taking Mac so long?
Laying the book aside, she stood and paced the room several times until her stomach growled and she remembered how long it had been since she’d last eaten. She was a little surprised that she could even think about food, but after ten years of witnessing graphic violence and human trauma as a firefighter and EMT, not much affected her appetite anymore.
Suddenly, the thought of staying in the room another minute by herself was intolerable, so she left to go find the kitchen. In a facility located hours from the nearest town, there had to be plenty of food stored there.
The kitchen was empty when she
arrived. There were clean dishes stacked and drying in the sink—evidence that Dirk’s men had been in there earlier. Digging through the pantries and refrigerator, she pulled out bread, condiments, and an assortment of meats and cheeses to make a sandwich. Too hungry to wait until she was back in the room, she ate it right there, savoring every bite. Feeling better, she wondered when Mac had last eaten. It had to have been a while.
Quickly making four more sandwiches, she wrapped them in cellophane and put away the leftover food. In doing so, she noticed several sodas in the refrigerator and an unopened bag of chips in the pantry, which she took. Arms laden with food, she returned to her room.
She hadn’t been back but a few minutes when Mac knocked on the door. Letting him in, she thought he looked tired.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Dirk and his men are disposing of the bodies.” He sighed heavily. “I was going to explain everything to him, but it sounded too unbelievable in my head when I was rehearsing it, so I didn’t even try. I asked him to trust me that the bodies needed to be burned, and he agreed to take care of it.” He raised his hand then and she saw the bottle of tequila he was holding. “I brought you this.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and then looked pointedly at the food piled on the desk. “While you were gone, I found food. I thought you might be hungry.”
“You did?” His eyes lit up and he seemed genuinely pleased, which was a big relief. She didn’t want him thinking she’d gone all domestic on him—men hated that, didn’t they? She didn’t know. An old saying flickered through her head—the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach—or a sharp object through his chest. Tonight, the old adage seemed unusually appropriate.
She watched Mac cross the room to the desk and stop, hand poised over the sandwiches. “Does it matter which one I take?”
“No. Take them all if you’re hungry. Also, there are chips, and one of those sodas is for you.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and rapidly downed the first sandwich. He was working on his second when she sat down beside him.
He opened his soda and took a long swallow, causing Lanie to marvel at the way he practically inhaled his food. She smiled, watching him eat. Finally noticing her, he waved a partially eaten sandwich at her. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Picking up the tequila, she looked around for glasses. There weren’t any. Shrugging, she gripped the bottle by the neck and raised it in a toast to him. “Salut.”
Taking a large gulp, she had to force herself not to cough, though her eyes teared up. She blinked several times to clear them and then noticed Mac watching her, an appreciative smile on his face. When he held out his hand, she gladly handed him the bottle and watched as he raised it to his mouth to take a healthy swallow. Seeing his lips wrapped around the same spot hers had been moments before seemed so intimate that she immediately felt breathless. Embarrassed, she grabbed the nearby bag of chips and opened it. If Mac noticed her reaction, he didn’t say anything, and they continued to eat in companionable silence.
Then Mac suddenly jerked his head and swore.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think my tooth is loose.” A confused look crossed his face as he swallowed the food in his mouth and then lifted the corner of his upper lip to reveal his teeth. Placing the pad of his thumb beneath the canine, he pushed on it. When he saw her watching him, he pulled his thumb away and shrugged. “I guess that thing—what did you call it?”
“Chupacabra?”
“Yeah. I guess one of its legs hit me in the jaw last night. My tooth’s loose.”
Lanie thought it was possible, but part of her worried that there might be another explanation. One that Mac wouldn’t want to hear. Still, she had to try.
“Mac, maybe—”
“Not now, Lanie.” He heaved a great sigh. “No deep, heavy talks, okay? I’m too tired to think, much less talk, about anything.” He yawned, shoved the discarded cellophane wrappers to one side of the bed, and leaned back against the headboard.
“You’re going to take a nap here? In my bed.”
He cocked open one eye and patted the spot next to him. “You’re welcome to join me—I won’t bite.” He smiled. “Sorry, poor choice of words under the circumstances.”
He gave a soft chuckle, more to himself than anything, and slid farther down on the bed until he was stretched out, his head on the pillow. He fell sound asleep within minutes.
Still staring at him, Lanie let his offer play through her mind a couple of times. Even in sleep, he emanated virile masculinity, strength, and power. So much so, it was hard to remember that he’d been attacked and near death just the night before. Now, with another night gone and the dawn of a new day upon them, it made sense that he was tired. This need for sleep was his body’s way of demanding the rehabilitative rest that he needed to recover.
Her internal dialogue ground to an abrupt halt. Recover? One night he was at death’s door. The next, he’s more or less fully recovered? No one healed that fast.
Lanie remembered what she’d read in her father’s journal about the healing powers of the baby chupacabra’s venom. Was her father’s theory correct? Was the adult’s venom even stronger? Was it capable of healing a man on the verge of death—or, taking the thought one step further, could it bring the dead back to life?
Her father hadn’t had a chance to experiment with the adult—unless one counted the attack that killed him. Her father and Burton were evidence that the adult’s venom could, in fact, bring the dead back—with one drawback.
Chupacabras turned the dead into vampires.
Again, the faint memory tugged at her. Her recall of odd facts and figures was a trait she’d found useful both in the research she’d done for her father and as a librarian. She thought that if she could access the Internet, given time, she might be able to find the source of the memory that kept eluding her. Not for long, she vowed. Just because her father and the other researchers were out in the middle of nowhere didn’t mean that online research wasn’t possible. Somewhere in this building, there was a satellite hookup and wireless access.
Knowing she’d seen her father’s laptop earlier, she did another quick search of the room. Of course, it wouldn’t be out in the open; that would be too easy.
She looked in the closet and almost missed it off to the side, the black case making it hard to see in the dark. She glanced at Mac as she pulled it out, wondering if her movements might wake him. He never stirred.
She knew the laptop had a wireless Internet connection; she’d tried to teach her dad how to use it before he’d left for the facility—how long ago had it been? She shrugged off the memory as she waited for the machine to boot up.
Within minutes, she was surfing through familiar cryptozoological sites. After four hours of hitting one dead end after another, she was no closer to finding the article. She’d explored every source she could think of, even going so far as to check out the Web sites dedicated to the chupacabra cult following that contained virtually no factual data whatsoever.
Frustrated, she looked away from the screen, letting her gaze roam to the narrow opening in the curtains through which the sun now shone. The chupacabra would be stone now, she thought, remembering the cool, rough texture of its skin. It was no wonder that it reminded her of a gargoyle, she thought. Then she smiled. That was it.
One of the theories on the origins of El Chupacabra was that they were Lucifer’s dark angels, traveling across the dimensions of space and time, taking the physical form of gargoyle-looking creatures while in the “human” dimension.
It was the reference to Lucifer that helped her remember what she was looking for—Children of the Morning Star.
Finding the article was more difficult than simply keying the name into the search engine, but at least now she remembered where to look. Soon, she found the article.
The Children of the Morning Star was a village of vampires, located somewhere in th
e uncharted regions of the Amazon. Hans Guberstein, an adventurer whose expedition stumbled upon it in the late 1700s, discovered it. Of the twenty-man team, only Guberstein escaped alive, carrying back with him horrifying tales of human sacrifices and demonic creatures that, from their descriptions, had to be chupacabras.
Guberstein reported that the vampires survived off the blood of the humans they hunted or who stumbled across their village. Their dead victims were staked and burned, thus preventing the victims from rising later as vampires. It was a crude means of population control.
It was hard to tell from Guberstein’s report whether the chupacabras were considered pets or deities by the vampires. Their preferred food source was goat’s blood, but occasionally a chupacabra fed off a human. When that happened, the corpse was allowed to rise as a vampire and become a member of the extended family.
According to Guberstein, the chupacabra-created vampire was superior to the creature that arose from a vampire killing.
Many found Guberstein’s tales outlandish and believed he’d contracted jungle fever while on expedition. Furthermore, they thought the rest of his team had died from the same fever or had been killed by wild animals. The village, its vampire residents, and the creatures were all assumed to be figments of his delusional imagination.
When Lanie had first read the story, years ago, she’d considered it an interesting but fanciful tale with no basis in fact. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Her gaze fell on Mac’s still form. If the venom turned a dead man into a vampire, what did it do to a living man?
The chupacabra’s venom restored the life it took, giving the resulting vampire certain of its own traits in return—specifically the need to survive on blood. Clearly, Mac had received enough of the venom’s restorative properties to heal him. Even old injuries seemed better, she thought, remembering how his limp appeared less pronounced.
What other changes were taking place? Would he, too, need to drink blood to survive?
A flicker outside the window distracted her from the disturbing thought. Walking over to peer through the crack in the curtains, she saw Dirk and his men gathered around a bonfire and knew they were burning the bodies.
Out of the Night Page 8