The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions (12 page)

“What are they here for?” Brian asked. 

“When turning someone, it saps a great deal of our strength, perhaps some of our soul, if you will,” Barnaby said. “They will provide me with power beyond what I possess.”  

That’s why you’re the leader, the strongest. You’ve selfishly hoarded your powers
, Brian thought, glad he hadn’t said it aloud. If he opened his mouth now and let something negative slip out, Barnaby could turn on him and kill him and it would all be over. 

For everyone. 

“Miss Paige, this might not be suitable for—” 

“I’m staying.” 

“Very well.” 

Barnaby strolled to the outer edge of the circle of priests. Father Stephenson appeared beside him, and together they walked to the center of the granite squares. Father Stephenson whipped a plain black two-and-a-half-foot-long staff out from inside his robes. He gripped the center of it, hefted it above his head, and began to chant. The sounds weren’t a recognizable language but rather a guttural mixture of throaty sounds, like a prehistoric hymn. 

The other priests joined in, raising their hands and grunting. Abruptly, the grunting stopped. Barnaby went down to one knee and placed his hands upon the granite slabs, eyes closed. Then Father Stephenson stooped, let go of the staff with one hand, and slammed the butt into the floor between Barnaby’s well-placed fingers. 

The loud crack reverberated through the room. A strange black ball glowed in the palm of Barnaby’s hand, then disappeared. Suddenly, Barnaby and Father Stephenson were standing to either side of Brian. 

“What the hell was that?” 

Barnaby winked. “An illusion.” 

Then the ground shook. Concrete scraped upon concrete, and Brian covered his ears. The four granite slabs lowered several inches and retracted beneath the floor. The female statue rose, revealing a circular concrete barrier surrounding it, engraved with vines and unfamiliar symbols. The statue was now the centerpiece of a ten-foot-diameter reservoir. 

Barnaby disappeared and reappeared before the statue. He beckoned for Brian to enter. “Come, Koltz! Come bask in the glory and the power of that which you are to become!” 

Brian’s mind screamed for him to stay put, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was frightened, yet eager to get it over and done with. His steps were leaden, as if the floor were steel and he had magnets attached to his feet. After several painstaking steps, he stood in front of Barnaby. 

The Undead leader whispered, “You will feel a great deal of pain, and then, utter ecstasy.” 

A chill rippled down Brian’s back. He glanced at Ruby, who peered at him, eyes rimmed with water. 

I can’t go through with this
. 

He wheeled around to tell Barnaby he’d changed his mind. But before he could open his mouth to speak, Barnaby gripped him by his throat and dipped him backward until he was parallel to the floor. His eyes bulged as Barnaby’s cold breath pummeled his neck. He tried to gulp, but the knot of his Adam’s apple couldn’t break through Barnaby’s steel grip. 

Barnaby breathed into his ear. “Now you die, Koltz, to be reborn in my image.” 

No!
 Staring at the ceiling, Brian kicked out with both legs, trying to throw Barnaby off balance. Instead, Barnaby wrapped his free arm around both of Brian’s legs and kept him suspended. Then there was a sharp pang in his neck. 

Fangs slid through his tissue, into the vein. He’d never been so conscious of his body before. Panic flooded through him. He thrashed, his ears buzzing, drowning out the high-pitched and quickening chanting from the priests. Barnaby buried his mouth against Brian’s neck. Wet sucking sounds and muffled moans of pleasure escaped the vampire.  

First, a burning sensation crept from where the fangs were embedded and spread to Brian’s arms, his chest, down further to his groin, thighs, to his feet. Then the burning turned to ice-cold, painful throbbing as it worked its way back up to his face. The cycle repeated for what felt like hours. 

Then there was calmness. The panic subsided, all thoughts washed away. A gray film covered his eyesight. His strength was sapped. The pain fled. He felt nothing, then, only a strange and comforting tranquility. 

Barnaby released his legs. They fell, limp, to the floor. The vampire leader lowered him to the ground, then propped him up on his knees, still locked to his neck. Brian’s head dangled. He tried to raise it but couldn’t. The fangs retracted from his neck. Fingers clutched his hair and wrenched his head backward. 

Barnaby reached with his free hand and pulled down on the statue’s right arm. Liquid sputtered from the statue’s eyes and mouth.  

“Drink, Koltz.” The words were muffled. “Become one with us now.” 

Brian giggled as the liquid pooled around his knees. It tickled.  

Ruby screamed his name over and over, but he couldn’t respond. Not that he wanted to. His body tingled with pleasure; he’d never felt so good in his life. He recalled the time he and Keith had smoked marijuana in high school. The sensations then were nothing compared to the sensations wracking his body at the moment.  

It was, as Barnaby promised, pure ecstasy. 

Barnaby released his hair. Brian flopped into the fountain’s reservoir. The liquid flowed all around him, into his mouth and nose, into his ears. He kept his eyes open, taking great pleasure in the red-gray haze overtaking his vision. 

The world drowned out around him. He sucked in the dark liquid and didn’t sputter. His lungs stopped pulling in air. His heart stopped beating. His sight darkened. 

And then he died. 

***

In the basement below, a priest leaned over John Ashmore’s battered, broken body, hands flitting over the old man. Creatures squirmed over John’s flesh. Rumbling sounds echoed throughout the lower chambers. 

John’s eyes bulged. He bolted upright. Those sounds were coming from the Master’s chamber. The Master had already gorged himself that day, which meant only one other thing was happening. Something that had always been denied him but had been offered to that scientist.  

The priest tried to hold him down, but John fought him off and stood. Maggots and leeches plopped on his feet. 

He threw back his head and screamed. 

Chapter 15

Keith stood outside the armory, waiting on Strajowskie. The president had called earlier that afternoon to demand the facility remain open. He’d flown to the battlefield to scope out the damage inflicted by the weapons the vampires had brought into the fray. Then he’d flown back to Arizona, tromped into the URC with his jaw set, ordered his bodyguards to wait in the cafeteria, and told Keith to accompany him to the training room.  

Keith didn’t know what yet, but something was afoot. 

He yawned. He’d holed himself up in his office for two days, preferring the cold loneliness of the URC facility over the comforts of his home. Several hours prior, he’d been on the verge of breaking the code to creating the platelet mushroom. He’d read all of Brian’s notes dozens of times, into the afternoon, pausing only to grab some coffee and a snack from a vending machine. 

He had a new admiration for Brian and his intelligence. Brian had been correct all along: He needed a human body to complete the platelet. He needed a 
live
 human body. And Brian’s morals wouldn’t allow him to place the creation onto any human unwillingly. It had to be a volunteer. Brian was a brilliant man with high aspirations and possibly the largest heart.  

And it had taken his disappearance for Keith to finally understand that. 

The exit door for the armory hissed open on hydraulic hinges. Out stepped Strajowskie, looking like a vigilante superhero from Keith’s childhood comic fandom days. He wore a leather neck-guard, a Kevlar vest, leather thigh-guards, and a helmet. A large automatic Ashmore crossbow was affixed to his back, with rounds of ammo strapped crisscrossed over his chest and shoulders. He held a miniature Ashmore in his right hand and a large machete in his left. Strajowskie slid the machete into a sheath on his left hip and slipped the mini into the waistband of his pants.  

“A machete?” 

Strajowskie lifted one corner of his mouth in a half-smile. “Hell, why not?” 

“It might be damn near impossible to get close enough to wield it.” 

“That’s never stopped me before.” 

“Before?” 

Strajowskie winked. “Let’s just say I led an excursion or two when this all started.” 

Keith shook his head, awed. The more he learned about Strajowskie, the more he liked him.  Keith was starting to see a real human behind the unbreakable façade. 

They made their way to the control room. Inside, Strajowskie walked to the desk and flipped through the various disks as if he lived there, then handed one to Keith.

“Holograms only.” 

Keith sat down in the desk chair and slid the CD out of its case and into the drive on the tower. The computer whirred to life and he set the program up, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

“How many?” 

“A dozen.” 

Keith let out a long whistle. “You sure about that, boss?” 

“If it gets too hot to handle, you can shut it down, right?” 

“Yeah. And if the holograms deal what the program would consider a deathblow, it’ll shut down automatically too.” 

“Well, I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure they don’t touch me at all.” 

“You can wear a sensor on your ankle if you want. Just to keep track.” 

“Sure.” 

Keith reached above the desk to a small cabinet and pulled out an ankle sensor. It was black and shaped like a pentagon, with a large red glass circle in the center. He flipped the switch and opened the straps, then bent down and wrapped it around Strajowskie’s right ankle.  

Strajowskie glanced down at the sensor, then turned and entered the training room.  

Keith finished setting up the program, flipped all the switches, strode to the window, and activated the intercom. “Signal when you’re ready, Mr. President.”  

Strajowskie already stood below, in the center of the Styrofoam pillars and boulders. He looked up and did an impatient whirligig motion with his right hand.  

Have at it then.
 Keith smashed the black button with disinterest. Sirens wailed. Jungle noises filled the tiny observation room, and metal grated on metal as the center cage rose from the floor. But this time, Keith hoped, the culprits inside the cage would be holograms. Nothing more. 

He peered out the window. Below, Strajowskie stood not ten feet from the rising cage, large Ashmore level. The cage stopped rising. Locks released. An eerie silence followed.  

Vampires appeared inside the open cage: one fat, one skinny, the rest in between to varying degrees. Each had unique physical features, from red hair and green eyes to black cropped hair and black eyes. They all had different, yet telling, mannerisms (one had an eye tic) and different clothing to boot. One by one, they clawed their way out, until all twelve holograms huddled outside the cage. They froze in place, eyes locked on Strajowskie. 

Strajowskie lowered the tip of the Ashmore.  

The vampires leapt into the air simultaneously, above him.  

Keith pressed his palms against the window. There were too many, too fast!  

With blinding speed and agility, Strajowskie lowered himself to one knee and leaned backward. One, two, three, four, five wooden stakes flew out as the whirling mass of claws and fangs and limbs descended upon him.  

Five holograms disappeared. 

Strajowskie rolled to the right. The tangle of Undead collided with the floor. Out of the roll, Strajowskie pounced to his feet and sprinted to the nearest boulder. The Undead shook their heads to gain their bearings before taking off after him. He dodged behind the boulder, firing his Ashmore over his shoulder twice. 

Two more holograms disappeared. 

The remaining five vampire holograms rushed the boulder. Two jumped atop it as the other three circled around one side. Movement to the left, behind a pillar, caught Keith’s attention. He smiled and glanced back at the Strajowskie-less boulder. The holograms shrugged and looked at each other. The fattest one then pointed its nose upward. Its nostrils expanded and its head swiveled about. It pointed at the pillar.  

Keith pressed even closer to the glass. 

Strajowskie jumped into view again. The large Ashmore was strapped to his back, and he once again brandished the machete and mini-Ashmore. He taunted the group of holograms, waving his machete. 

The vampires fanned out and stalked forward.  

Keith glanced at his watch. Two minutes down. 

The fat vampire leapt at Strajowskie, who ducked. The vampire flew over the president and barrelled into the eye-tic vampire. They toppled to the floor in a heap. Another vampire dove at Strajowskie and landed on his back. Strajowskie stood straight up, then fell backward. The vampire released its hold. Strajowskie kicked out with his legs, brought his hands to the ground, and pushed off the floor with the power of his arms, righting himself and standing in one acrobatic leap. All while holding the machete and the mini-Ashmore. 

He wheeled about, kicked the vampire in the head, then shot it once in the chest. The hologram disappeared. Yet another vampire flew at him from behind. He sliced up over his head, turned to face the new adversary, and sliced downward with the machete. The vampire stood in front of the president, unblinking.  

Keith held his breath, thinking the vampire would reach out and the program would shut down. 

Instead, the hologram’s head slid off its shoulders. Then the body and the severed head disappeared. 

The fat vampire and the eye-tic vampire were still disentangling themselves as the final standing vampire launched an assault. It jumped and kicked in mid-air, soaring toward Strajowskie’s head. He fell flat to the floor. The vampire sailed over him. The president stood, wheeled about, and flung back the arm holding the machete. He levelled the mini-Ashmore in their direction with his other hand, then threw the raised arm forward and let the blade fly. 

The fat vampire stood up in the path of the kicking vampire.  

Strajowskie pulled the trigger on the Ashmore. 

The machete pierced through the heads of both the soaring vampire and the fat one as the two Undead collided. Both holograms disappeared. The eye-tic vampire was standing and brushing itself off behind them when they dissipated. It looked up, startled.  

The stake from the Ashmore thudded into its chest. It also disappeared. 

Keith gulped and checked his watch.  

Three minutes. 

He rushed to the computer and pulled up the program that captured data from the sensor around Strajowskie’s ankle. 

The vampires hadn’t scored a single hit. 

***

Keith rubbed the growing stubble on his cheek. If he let it grow another week, he’d have a full face of hair and a visible receding hairline etched with white hairs. Brian would have a laugh if he saw him unshaven. 

He stood and paced the room. Strajowskie was now heading to the battlefield, and Keith had the nagging suspicion the impromptu training session meant the president was preparing to join in the fray. Not since the Medieval times had such an occurrence happened. Leaders didn’t lead on the field. They led from afar in order to survive and govern their people. Strajowskie seemed hell-bent on changing that out-dated perception, though. 

But with the Undead making secretive plans and bringing weapons onto the battlefield, was Strajowskie making a mistake by abandoning his post and jumping into the heat of the war? And why did the Undead need weapons? To even the odds? Create pandemonium? A distraction for some larger scheme? 

Keith urged the thoughts from his mind and sighed. The president was gone. Brian and Ruby were gone, injured, possibly worse. The URC had basically been deserted since the kidnapping. Negotiations were obsolete. There were no new lands to map out.  

It wasn’t fair. Everyone was out doing something, of their own accord or not, while he was left to ponder their whereabouts and fret over their well-being. The world was crashing down around him, around everyone. He couldn’t sit by and watch it happen. He had to make a difference. He had to do 
something
. 

He stopped pacing. Brian’s stack of notebooks were on his desk, next to the computer.  

He’d planned on attempting the experiment soon, once he found a willing subject. Against Strajowskie’s knowledge. But with boredom brooding over his shoulder, he impulsively decided not to wait to run the experiment.  

He’d had a willing volunteer all along.  

He snatched up the notes and rushed to the laboratory.