Out of the Night

by Robin T. Popp

  He was a vampire!

  Instinctively, Clint had rushed forward to once again protect his daughter, but was brought short a second time when he saw her place a hand on the man’s arm. Over the distance, he heard her gentle urgings and was further amazed when the man complied.

  Filled with questions and concerns, he’d followed them all the way to the hotel where he presumed they were staying and stood there now, gazing at it, lost in a mire of speculation and unanswered questions. Finally, knowing that dawn lay not far off, he turned and left, carrying his bags of blood and the weight of his concerns.

  When he reached the old building where he and the others were staying, he found Lance ranting about an incident that had occurred earlier that night when he’d gone to collect his latest recruits—Smith and Harris. Making matters worse, there appeared to be dissension among the newly arisen troops.

  “I don’t think we owe you shit,” the man named Kinsley was shouting when Clint slipped into the lair. “I don’t remember asking you to kill me.”

  “You’ll do as I order,” Lance bit out.

  “Fuck you—you’re not my commanding officer anymore, Burton. Get over it.”

  Lance said something more, but Clint didn’t pay much attention as he moved through the lair to where the adult chupa rested. When he walked in, she didn’t even lift an eyelid and his concern grew. He placed the backpack on the floor as Gem jumped onto his shoulder and greeted him.

  “How are you, girl?” He gave her an affectionate pat and then set her on the floor where she went to squat beside the adult. “I’m going to help you,” he promised the adult chupa, stroking her head and letting his hands trail along the huge fins on her back.

  Getting up, he grabbed the backpack and pulled out two bags of dog’s blood. He gave one to Gem and watched as she set to work, piercing the bag with her teeth. As she ate, he held the bag in front of the adult, who finally opened her eyes. He used his own teeth to pierce the bag, then held it so the adult’s tongue could suck up the blood.

  When both had fed, he lay down beside them, the seeds of a plan germinating in his head. The sound of the men arguing floated to him, and he knew Lance was too preoccupied with his recruits to notice Clint’s thoughts coming through the psychic link. Clint smiled to himself. It was an oversight that Lance would soon regret.

  Chapter 14

  A loud, piercing noise jerked Lanie rudely from sleep. Her heart racing, she reached blindly for the alarm and struggled to figure out how to turn it off, but the noise continued to blare, loud and irritating. On the verge of ripping the cord from the wall, she finally found the right button and blessed silence filled the room.

  She fell back against the pillows, trying to remember why she’d set the alarm to go off so early. Then she remembered her plan to see Uncle Charles and forced her eyes back open. Getting out of bed would be tough, so she pulled back the covers and practically fell out, knowing that if she didn’t, she might not wake up again until much later.

  Stumbling across the room to her purse, she searched the contents until she found his phone number and placed her call. Within a few minutes, she had him on the phone.

  “Lanie, my dear, how are you? Is everything all right?”

  “Actually, Uncle Charles, things aren’t all right. Is there any chance you could meet with me today? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Of course. Let’s see, it’s almost sixteen hundred hours—how about meeting over dinner?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Perfect. Shall I pick you up in, say, thirty minutes?”

  She gave him the address, hung up the phone, and quickly showered and dressed. Thirty minutes later she was downstairs waiting for him when he pulled up, driving a gold-tone Humvee. She climbed in, appreciating the spaciousness of the vehicle, and exchanged polite, casual conversation with him as they drove to the restaurant. Several times when she looked at him, she was struck by his ageless appearance. She thought he must be in his late fifties, although he could easily pass for a man ten years younger. He reminded her of Sean Connery, both in looks and manner, and she wondered again why he’d never married. He was a very attractive man.

  When they reached the restaurant, she discovered that he’d called ahead and a table had been prepared for them. He held the chair for her as she sat and then summoned the waiter over before taking his own seat.

  “Lanie, what would you like to drink? Something stronger than tea, perhaps? No? Make that two.” He dismissed the waiter, who rushed off to fill their order, and then politely waited for her to tell him what was wrong.

  “I’m not sure how to begin,” she said. “What I have to tell you seems so unbelievable, even to me, but it’s very, very real.”

  “Try me. You’ll find I’m more receptive than you think—after all, Clint and I were friends for a long time and shared many common interests.”

  It was true, but still she hesitated. “But this has to do with . . .”

  “El Chupacabra?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You knew?”

  “Why do you think I called your father in the first place? Though no one else in the military recognized what we’d found in the jungle, I did. And I knew how hard Clint had worked to prove they existed. I thought he deserved to be the one to study them.” He grew silent as he glanced down at his napkin. “I wish I’d known how dangerous they could be.”

  She reached out a hand to touch his. “Because of you, he got the chance of a lifetime. His death wasn’t your fault.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was time to tell him everything. “In fact, he’s not really dead, exactly. More like he’s undead.” If she hadn’t known him so well, she never would have noticed the slight widening of his eyes betraying his surprise. She rushed to get the rest of it out before she lost her nerve. “Please hear me out. I’m sure my father mentioned the possible connection between the chupacabra and the vampire?” He nodded, and she felt a moment of hope. “Well, that connection is real. When the chupacabra killed Dad and Lance, it converted them into vampires. I think it has something to do with the venom they secrete when they drink the victim’s blood. It doesn’t seem to have an effect on most animals. Once dead, they stay dead. But on humans . . . they come back to life.”

  She paused, expecting him to laugh at her or at the very least call her crazy, but he did neither. “Did you tell Mac about this?”

  She grimaced. “Yes, and at first he didn’t believe me.”

  Uncle Charles raised an eyebrow and appeared curious. “What changed his mind?”

  “Oh, I think it was a combination of several things,” she said facetiously.

  “Like?”

  “Like getting attacked by the chupacabra himself, followed by a run-in with Dad and Burton after they were supposedly dead, watching Burton kill a man by biting his neck, and then watching one of the dead researchers come back to life.”

  “Mac was attacked by the creature?”

  “I’m sorry. We meant to tell you earlier.”

  “I’m sure.” At that moment the waiter appeared with their drinks. He handed them menus and after a moment took their orders and left once again.

  “Mac looked to be in good shape when I saw him the other night; he must not have been too seriously injured.”

  “Actually, he almost died.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Charles, to be the one to break it to you.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell me all of it—and don’t gloss over the rough spots, okay?”

  She quickly told him everything that had happened since she first arrived in Taribu and found the chupacabra in the cage. The only time she paused in her story was when the waiter brought their food or to answer a question. When she finished, he knew as much as she did, and while she felt relieved, he looked deeply troubled.

  He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone, quickly dialing a number. After a moment he spoke into the phone. “This is Ad
miral Winslow. You have one of my men there—a Dirk Adams. I’d like to check on his status.” He waited a few minutes and as Lanie watched him, she was impressed again with his calm, cool acceptance of the situation.

  “Yes, thank you,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Can you connect me with his room? Thank you.” There was a moment’s pause. “Dirk? How are you doing, son? I just heard.” There was the sound of a response on the other end, but Lanie couldn’t catch what was being said. Finally he nodded. “Of course, we’ll get you out as soon as we get a clean bill of health from the physician. No, I’m sure it won’t take that long. Just sit tight. Try to relax.”

  Lanie heard the loud litany of protest coming through the phone’s earpiece before Charles, smiling, disconnected the call. He replaced his phone and chuckled to himself. “That boy sure wants out of the hospital.” Then he sobered. “There’s no way he should have recovered that quickly. The doctor told me that by all rights he should be dead.”

  “It’s the venom,” she explained. “He got a lot of it.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on him. Mac, too,” he promised her. “I’d like to think they’ll be okay, but if not, we’ll handle it. You’re not alone.”

  She gave him a grateful smile and then was startled when his phone rang. Judging from his expression and tone after he answered it, Lanie knew the conversation wasn’t good. When he disconnected, she thought he looked tired.

  “Bad news?”

  “Yes. That was a friend of mine with homicide. They found Mark Kinsley’s body.”

  “Where?”

  “An abandoned building about twenty minutes from here.”

  “What about the others? Burton, Munoz, Patterson, Brown, and Harris? And Dad?”

  He shook his head. “No sign of them.”

  Maybe her father was still alive, or undead, or whatever the correct term was. She hid her relief as an image of the researcher at the facility rose up in her mind. “The body will have to be staked.”

  He stared at her, and for the first time she wondered if he’d really believed her or had only been humoring her. As if he realized what she was thinking, he nodded, then folded his napkin and laid it on the table. “I’m sorry to cut our dinner short, but I have to go ID the body. I’ll take care of the, uh, details.” He removed several dollars from his wallet and tossed them onto the table. Then he took several more bills and held them out to her. “This should cover your cab ride back to the hotel.”

  “Keep it,” she said, snatching the napkin from her lap and tossing it onto the table as she stood up. “I’m going with you. And we should probably call Mac and tell him to meet us.”

  “We’ll call him on our way.”

  Once inside the Humvee, Lanie pulled out her phone before realizing that she didn’t know Mac’s phone number. She was about to call the hotel when Charles stopped her. “Might be better if I talked to him,” he told her, pulling out his own phone once more.

  The phone’s volume was set so high, she heard the ringing as the call went through and then Mac’s grumbling voice when he finally answered. He didn’t sound happy about being awakened.

  “Young man,” Uncle Charles said in a deep, authoritative voice, “I’ll thank you not to take that tone of voice with me.”

  There was sudden silence on the other end.

  “That’s better. Now, here is the situation.” He briefly told Mac about the body being found and listened to Mac’s reply. “Fine. Lanie’s with me. We’re already en route and will meet you there.” He listened a moment and then smiled, although he kept his tone serious. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were having dinner. Yes, it was quite enjoyable, thank you. We’ll see you there.”

  Charles put away his phone and glanced at her. “He was very upset.”

  “About Kinsley?” She’d forgotten that Mac used to be his commanding officer.

  “Well, Kinsley, certainly, but I don’t think that’s what upset him the most.” He smiled then but didn’t elaborate, and Lanie didn’t press the matter.

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled up near the scene of the crime. Mac stood out front, looking worried, irritated, and paler than usual. When she joined him on the sidewalk, he shot her a look she couldn’t interpret, but otherwise ignored her to address Uncle Charles.

  “They won’t let me in without you.” “Then let’s go take a look.”

  The building loomed before them, about eight stories tall, Lanie guessed. It was made of that faded brownish-red brick that always looked weathered and old. Uncle Charles walked up the front steps and spoke to the uniformed officer guarding the entrance. A few minutes later, a tall, forty-something man appeared and waved them inside.

  They stepped into the small foyer with mailboxes for each of the apartments lining the wall to the left and a door to the first apartment off to the right. Straight ahead and to the right was the staircase. The walls had been painted a dull institutional yellow that had long since grayed, and the hard linoleum floor was stained and torn in more places than not. Lanie found it depressing.

  “What can you tell us, John?” Charles asked after introducing them to his friend Detective John Boehler.

  “We got a report just before dawn of strange lights and noises. By the time a car got here, everything was quiet. A preliminary search of the building uncovered a body down in the basement. We don’t know the exact cause of death yet—there weren’t any obviously fatal wounds.”

  Lanie exchanged confused looks with Mac. The neck wounds of the chupacabra would have been hard to miss. Maybe they were wrong, and Kinsley’s disappearance had nothing to do with Burton and the chupacabra.

  “We also found lab equipment down the hall,” the detective said, waving a hand in that direction. “It’s too early to draw any conclusions, but it looks like someone was making drugs.” They went down the stairs and walked to the far end of the basement before the detective stopped. “The body is in the corner. My men have finished in here, so feel free to look around. I’d appreciate it if you’d share any thoughts you have concerning what might have happened. Every little bit helps.”

  Lanie knew perfectly well that they’d never tell the detective anything—it was better if no one else knew about either the vampires or the chupacabras.

  They entered the darkened room, now lit with temporary lamps, and Lanie looked in the corner. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t to see a body contorted as if frozen in the midst of a violent seizure, eyes staring wildly, arms reaching out, fingers bent and curled, and legs twisted to the side.

  She moved in for a closer look, conscious of Mac’s and Charles’s reactions—or the lack thereof. They’d known this man, had worked with him—what were they feeling? Their total lack of emotional response made her wonder just how many times they’d encountered death in their line of work.

  She did her best to objectively view the scene before her, but the body’s appearance puzzled her. As Detective Boehler had said, there were no obvious fatal wounds, but then, he’d not known what to look for. Stooping for a closer look, she saw that the two dark circles, where the chupacabra had bitten him, were now little more than faint marks on his skin. They’d no doubt healed when he converted, as Burton’s and her father’s neck wounds had.

  Mac bent down beside her. “What would make him contort like this?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, whispering. “Maybe there was something in his genetic makeup that reacted badly to the conversion.” She stood up and addressed Detective Boehler. “Did you say that you’d found lab equipment?”

  He nodded and gestured for them to follow. “It’s down the hall here.”

  The minute she saw it, she knew her father had worked here. He’d been obsessive about how his lab should be set up—refrigerators in the back, test tube racks on the left, because he was left-handed, droppers and reactants on the right. He always kept things in the same order, no matter where he was or what he was working on—and in the freezer, she�
��d find . . .

  She crossed the room and opened the top door of the refrigerator and looked inside. A thick coating of ice covered the inner walls, but otherwise it appeared empty. A wave of disappointment hit her and she started to close the door. That’s when she saw it—a small folded white piece of paper, almost invisible against the ice.

  “Lanie?” Uncle Charles asked from across the room. “Did you find something?”

  She snatched the paper and palmed it before closing the door. She didn’t want the others to see it. “Empty.”

  Lanie felt Mac staring at her, but she refused to look at him. “Did your men find anything?” she asked the detective.

  “Nothing useful. A couple of spent bags of blood, plastic tubing, and a lot of questions.”

  It was obvious from looking around that there was nothing here that would tell them what her father had been up to, so they left the room.

  They climbed the stairs in silence and retraced their steps down the hallway to the foyer, stopping once more before the front door.

  “You’ll call my office if you discover anything?” Uncle Charles asked.

  “I will. Do you know if the deceased had family?”

  “A brother. I’ll call him and give him your number.”

  The detective nodded, and as they turned to leave the sound of someone hurrying toward them caught their attention.

  Lanie turned and saw a uniformed policeman.

  “Sir, we found something else. You might want to take a look.”

  Detective Boehler nodded, then shook hands with Uncle Charles, promising that he’d be in touch. They waited a heartbeat after he left and then followed him, even though they hadn’t been invited.

  This time, instead of going back down into the basement, they stayed on the first floor. When they reached the room the detective had disappeared into, they followed him inside, curious about what had been found. A statue of a man lay on the floor, spotlighted by the small amount of fading light filtering in through the window where a board was missing. Curious, Lanie and Mac moved closer for a better look.