The Vampire Evolution Trilogy (Book 2): Rule of Vampire Read online

  Then he laughed. “God’s will or nature’s gift, it sure is strange. And I’m not sure it solves the problem of the Wilderings or makes us any safer. This whole thing might end in disaster if we don’t do something about it.”

  Clarkson and Michael seemed to be in the throes of some kind of religious ecstasy. In the distance, Terrill could hear explosions and gunfire.

  “Hey!” he said sharply. “Hello? You guys? We need to go help the humans before they’re wiped out!”

  “How do we do that?” Sylvie asked.

  “We’ll have to join them, fight on their side––if they’ll have us.”

  Snapping out of her trance, Clarkson stared at him for a moment, then nodded. She’d follow me anywhere, Terrill thought uncomfortably. I hope I don’t get us all killed. But he was certain it was the right thing to do. His progeny had unintentionally brought this disaster upon the people of this town, and he needed to do what he could to save them.

  “I will not be joining you,” Michael said. “I will never kill again, either human or vampire. My fate lies elsewhere.”

  “Then farewell, my friend, twice my Maker,” Terrill said. He turned toward the tunnel. He could see sunlight peeking through the hedges, and normally that would have stopped Clarkson from following him. But now?

  She was a Golden Vampire. She could walk in daylight.

  The world of vampires had changed.

  Chapter 40

  When Terrill disappeared behind the bulletproof glass of the airport terminal, Fitzsimmons didn’t have time to get angry, because rushing toward them from all sides came Wilderings. They surrounded Fitzsimmons, Peterson, and the five remaining guards and then stopped, sniffing and milling around the European vampires as if trying to figure out whether they were prey. The smell of human was still in the air, and that was confusing them.

  One of them lurched forward and tried to bite Peterson, who probably looked like an easy target. Peterson swiftly drew a sword out of his cane and beheaded the attacker. As the head rolled along the tarmac, it seemed to trigger the other Wilderings, who surged forward.

  The untrained and clumsy Wilderings were easy to dispatch, and at first the guards were able to create a cordon around Fitzsimmons and Peterson. Then the sheer number of their opponents began to take its toll. One of the guards went down and the Wilderings tore into him. The blue blood of the vampire flew through the air and sent the attackers into a frenzy.

  Enough of this! Fitzsimmons thought. He strode into the Wilderings, claws and fangs extended. He moved so fast that to him, the other vampires appeared to be moving in slow motion. Peterson followed, nearly as fast, followed in turn by the guards. They fought their way toward the plane and were only a few feet from its door when the Wilderings suddenly doubled in number. It was as if news of the battle at the airport had reached the streets of Crescent City, and those not already attacking the Armory had been diverted to this new target.

  Running from Wilderings wasn’t something Fitzsimmons could tolerate. Energy surged through him, and the thrill of battle. The guards were all down and Peterson was surrounded. Fitzsimmons turned from the safety of the plane’s open door and waded back into the mass of Wilderings.

  More Wilderings came, and then more. Amid the joy of battle, it slowly dawned on Fitzsimmons that he might have miscalculated his own strength. There were too many Wilderings: an endless number, it seemed. After a time, even their fresh blue blood failed to replenish his energy. Peterson was standing back to back with him, but the old man was breathing heavily, and it looked as though he was having a hard time lifting his sword.

  Fitzsimmons heard the sound of marching feet and dared a glance over his shoulder. There, approaching in a double line, were at least twenty more Wilderings.

  Fitzsimmons almost gave up then. He almost bolted for the plane, even knowing that if he broke ranks with Peterson, his back would be exposed and he might be taken down from behind.

  But then the approaching lines of vampires did something unexpected. They marched into the melee and started flinging the other Wilderings aside, killing them with an efficiency that made Fitzsimmons wonder if these were reinforcements that had been sent by the Council.

  But that was impossible. No one was supposed to know they were here.

  Finally, the newly arrived vampires surrounded them. The Wilderings gave up the battle at that point, wandering away as if their bloodthirst had been diverted toward the humans at the center of town once again.

  Out of the ranks of newcomers, a young man emerged––no, not a young man, a boy. He saluted them. “Welcome to Crescent City, Councilor Fitzsimmons.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “They call me Hoss,” the boy said. “I am the leader of the local faction of the Council of Vampires.”

  Local faction? Fitzsimmons wondered. What local faction? This is the middle of nowhere.

  “We’re not official, of course, though I hope you’ll give us your sanction. But I’ve been reading up on you, councilor, and I want you to know I fully endorse your policy of strict adherence to the Rules of Vampire.”

  “How old are you, son?”

  “I’m thirteen years old, sir.”

  “No,” Fitzsimmons said impatiently. “I can see that’s your physical age. I meant, how long have you been vampire?”

  Hoss looked confused. “Uh… seven days?”

  Fitzsimmons was struck dumb. This child had the manner of a centuries-old vampire, and seemingly the wisdom as well.

  “Seven days?” Peterson laughed. “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “Shut up, Peterson,” Fitzsimmons snapped. This was a prodigy, obviously. Once in a generation, there was a Wildering who understood instinctively what to do. He ought to know: he’d been such a phenomenon himself––which made this young man a potential rival. Fitzsimmons wondered if this was some kind of setup. He’d been nervous about coming back to America. He’d spent decades here late in the last century, until a particularly bothersome vampire hunter had chased him out of the country.

  He wouldn’t put it past Agent Feller to have set a trap for him.

  But, Fitzsimmons realized, he wouldn’t do it through vampires. Feller would kill any vampire he saw; it would never occur to him to use them as bait.

  For now, this wunderkind seemed to be impressed by the Council of Vampires for some reason.

  Hoss frowned. “Where’s Terrill? I was looking forward to meeting him.”

  Fitzsimmons ignored the question. Until he knew what this “local faction” represented, he wasn’t going to talk about Terrill. “How did you know we were coming?” he demanded. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

  “A secret?” Hoss said. “Then perhaps you’d better improve your security.”

  Peterson laughed. “Clarkson would’ve loved to have heard that.”

  “Dammit, Peterson, keep your mouth shut.” Fitzsimmons was thinking furiously. Perhaps these local vampires could be of use. “I’ve come all the way from England to track down the vampire who started this outbreak,” he said.

  “Her name is Jamie,” Hoss agreed.

  “So you know of her? Can you help us find her?”

  Hoss puffed up and put on a proud smile. “I already have her in custody, sir.”

  “You have her?”

  “Yes, sir. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her.”

  “You amaze me, young man. By all means, lead the way.”

  Hoss turned and waved his troops into an honor guard formation, placing Fitzsimmons and Peterson in the middle. As they marched away, Peterson whispered to his boss, “What about Terrill?”

  “I’m betting that if anyone knows where he’s gone, it will be his progeny, Jamie,” Fitzsimmons said.

  “You’d better hope so,” Peterson muttered. “If Terrill goes against us, we’ll lose the support of the Council. I hate to think what our enemies will do to us then.”

  “Our enemies had best worry about us,” Fitzsimmons said
. “The Council doesn’t matter––only the power it gives us.”

  #

  As they made their way through the town, they saw nothing but chaos. There were no humans to be seen, except the dead bodies littering the streets. Wilderings milled about in aimless bands.

  There was a full-on pitched battle going on somewhere inland, but Hoss was leading them in a different direction, toward the beach. The troops marched up to an abandoned motel and stopped.

  “This way,” Hoss motioned.

  Fitzsimmons and Peterson followed him to a boarded-up restaurant attached to the motel.

  Hoss knocked on the door. “It’s me,” he said. “Open up, Pete.”

  The door flew open. A large teenager was standing there, and behind him was a smaller teen. Both of them held clubs and looked ready to defend themselves until they saw Hoss and relaxed.

  The vampires inside the restaurant were a sorry-looking group. The younger people seemed to be in charge; the older-looking vampires appeared dispirited, as if not quite sure they liked being what they were. At least the young vampires looked excited.

  Fitzsimmons was just inside the door when he noticed someone at the back of the group. He stepped back. “Hoss!” he exclaimed. “You have a vampire hunter in your midst!”

  “Not any more,” Hoss said. “Feller’s been Turned.”

  Fitzsimmons was impressed. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. Feller had been the most fanatical vampire hunter in history. It was amazing that he’d allowed himself to be Turned.

  Feller stepped forward, extending his hand. “Fitzsimmons. I apologize. I had no idea what this was like––how wonderful it is. I was wrong the whole time.”

  Well, well, Fitzsimmons thought. Finally, an adult. Feller would know everything there was to know about vampire hunter operations and techniques. He’d be invaluable.

  Hoss’s troops came inside, and most of them continued on through a hole in the wall and into the room beyond. Feller saw a crude handwritten sign over an overstuffed armchair that was raised on a dais. On it was listed the Rules of Vampire. How cute.

  “You’ve been hiding here the whole time?” he asked.

  “I’ve tried to abide by the Rules,” Hoss said. “They’ve kept us safe, exactly as they were intended to do.”

  Fitzsimmons put on as big a smile as he could summon. “Very good! Just as it should be! Now then, where’s this Jamie, the cause of all the commotion?”

  “This way,” Feller said before Hoss could answer. Fitzsimmons saw a frown cross Hoss’s young face. There was some tension there. No doubt Feller was chafing at being under the direction of a teenager.

  Jamie was tied up in the last room, trussed from head to foot. She glared at him. She’d be dangerous if she ever got loose, Fitzsimmons thought. Next to her was a young-looking, dark-haired vampire who was also tied up, though obviously in his case it was more for show than anything else. The guy didn’t look like he could move, he was so terrified, much less escape.

  Fitzsimmons leaned down and grabbed Jamie by the hair. “Where’s your Maker?” he demanded. “Where would Terrill hide?”

  Surprise flashed across her face, as if she hadn’t known that Terrill was back in town. Then her eyes widened with realization, as if she’d figured out exactly where he would hide.

  Feller slapped her. “Answer him!”

  “I don’t know,” she said. A trickle of blue blood ran from the corner of her mouth and down her chin, and Fitzsimmons resisted the impulse to lick it off.

  She isn’t going to tell me, he thought. His eyes fell on the frightened vampire next to her. “Who’s this?”

  “We don’t know,” Hoss said. “He was with her when we caught her.”

  Fitzsimmons saw concern in Jamie’s eyes. She is worse than a human! he marveled. I’ve got her. Her emotions are so easy to read.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Marc,” the vampire whispered.

  “I’m going to hurt you, Marc. Then I’m going to hurt Jamie. Then I’m going to come back to you and hurt you even more.” Fitzsimmons leaned down looked him directly in the face. “You’re vampire. I can torture you to the point of death and you’ll come back. And then I can start all… over… again.”

  Marc flinched at the tone of Fitzsimmons’s voice.

  “But you can avoid that very simply,” he continued. “All you have to do is tell me where Terrill would hide. Where do you sleep during the day?”

  Marc’s eyes flicked toward Jamie, who was shaking her head.

  “Don’t look at her, Marc. She won’t want you to tell me––but you don’t know Terrill. There is no reason to protect him. And believe me, you’ll tell me what I want to know, one way or another.” Fitzsimmons took the sword out of Peterson’s hand and shoved the blade all the way through Jamie’s shoulder. She cried out.

  “I’ll tell you!” Marc said.

  “No, Marc,” Jamie gasped. “Don’t.”

  Fitzsimmons pulled the sword out of Jamie’s shoulder and sliced into her leg.

  “Stop!” Marc cried. “I know a place they might go!”

  Fitzsimmons nodded with satisfaction. The boy was too terrified to lie.

  “Get him on his feet,” he said to Feller. “You’re not just going to tell me where this place is, Marc; you’re going to show me. We’re leaving Jamie here, and if you’ve lied to me, I’m going to kill you and come back and torture Jamie until she gives me what I want. Then I’m going to kill her, too. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Marc whimpered.

  “Feller? I want you to stay here and guard her. Don’t let her get away, no matter what. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Feller said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Very good!” Fitzsimmons said. This was going to work out after all! He had Jamie under his control, and he had a vampire hunter turned vampire who was calling him “sir.” And soon, he’d have Terrill back.

  He grabbed Marc by the shoulder and propelled him toward the door, waving for Peterson to follow. Hoss turned to his crew, ordering them to line up.

  “Not you,” Fitzsimmons said dismissively. “You stay and take care of your little clubhouse. When I get back, we’ll discuss whether the Council wants a junior chamber.”

  Peterson laughed.

  Fitzsimmons didn’t look behind him. If he had, the look on Hoss’s face might have given him pause. He might have tried harder to placate the young vampire.

  Hoss sat back in his armchair, put his chin in his hand, and started to think.

  Chapter 41

  Time had never passed more slowly. Callendar was ready to throw his watch away, because it had become a distraction. It lied to him, telling him only minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked when he knew it had been hours.

  The Wilderings were finding the cracks in the Armory’s defenses. There was a row of skylights down the center of the roof, barely visible but just large enough for vampires to get through. The creatures squeezed through the broken glass and fell with loud thumps to the concrete floor. A few minutes later, if not dealt with, they got to their feet, seemingly no worse for the fall, and started attacking people.

  It was easy enough to move everyone to the side and dispatch the wounded vampires before they could recover. But then the metal sidings of the building began to be pried apart. A few of the humans inside were grabbed, pulled toward the gaps, and bitten. Several vampires even managed to make it into the Armory.

  To the horror of the trapped people, the cops inside with them killed the newly bitten before they could Turn. By now, the civilians were gathered at the far end of the building, which was flush with the hillside. So far there hadn’t been any breaches there. Callendar wasn’t sure if the people were more afraid of the vampires or the cops, armored in SWAT gear, who were supposed to be protecting them.

  More and more vampires were falling through the skylights, and the gaps in the sides of the building were getting bigger, despit
e the best efforts of the vampire hunters. They were running out of bullets, even with the extra ammo that Abercrombie and his crew had brought.

  Three of the dozen vampire hunters had been killed so far, taken down from behind or simply overwhelmed by the number of Wilderings. Civilians who had some training had picked up the dead hunters’ weapons, but they had also been killed.

  The lack of firepower wasn’t the problem: bullets didn’t kill the vampires, only slowed them down. It was the lack of more permanent solutions that was the real issue. Beheading was the only sure means the humans had to dispatch the vampires, and they had only a few sharp knives. It was awful work, and they took turns doing it. They were all covered in blue blood. Fire would have worked, but within the confines of the building, it was deemed too dangerous.

  They had barrels of gasoline, and Callendar was getting ready to suggest that they clear a space in the middle of the floor, pile up the bodies, and take their chances with fire.

  He looked at his watch. The damn thing’s frozen, he thought. Only three minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked. Dawn was hours away, and the last weather forecast he’d heard was for a continuation of the previous day’s overcast, rainy skies.

  There was a rhythmic pounding at the front door and someone outside cried, “Let us in!”

  Callendar sidled over to the door. It was the most secure part of the building once it was locked, so no one was near it. He opened it a crack, peeked out, and saw a slender, dark-haired woman who was obviously human; beside her was another woman, tall, fair, and blonde, who moved so fast as she fended off the vampires attacking them that she must have been vampire herself. On the other side of her was…

  No, he thought. That’s impossible.

  He had studied the pictures of Terrill for decades, never expecting to actually meet the Alpha vampire. Yet here he stood. At his very doorstep. Killing other vampires.

  Callendar opened the door. Later, he would ask himself how he could have done such a crazy thing. But at the time, the sight of Terrill’s speed in fighting off the Wilderings decided him. Terrill, it was rumored, no longer killed humans. He was the originator of the Rules of Vampire, which forbade the very things that the Wilderings were doing.