Department 19: Zero Hour (76 page)

Dracula heard a voice say Alexandru’s name from across the wide expanse of the courtyard, and turned in time to see a teenage soldier with glowing red eyes thrust a stake into Valeri’s heart.

He stared, the vampire girl forgotten entirely, as his oldest comrade died with an explosion that shook the courtyard, the fire in his eyes fading, his mind unable to truly accept what he was seeing. Then he saw Valentin, smiling and covered in his brother’s blood, and Dracula’s incredulity was replaced with a fury huge enough and hot enough to burn down the entire world. A growl began to rumble deep within him, and his eyes exploded with black fire as he floated into the air, their gaze locked squarely on Valentin and the vampire boy who had ended Valeri’s long life.

Then, despite the noise of the dying battle and the fury drowning out everything except the desire to tear out the throats and gorge on the blood of those who had taken his most faithful servant from him, a sound from close by made him move; it was a popping noise, followed by the whir of something unravelling at speed. Dracula slid to the left, then was thrown forward as a metal stake erupted from the right side of his chest, trailing a metal wire slick with his own blood.

The pain was huge and instantaneous; he threw back his head and howled up at the night sky. The wire was speeding through the hole that had been punched in his body, a feeling so awful that it made his stomach churn. He lowered his head, his eyes roiling with fire, and grabbed hold of it. The metal wire flayed the skin from his hands in sheets, but he barely noticed; his only thought was that he had to get it out of him, whatever it was.

With a roar, he ripped the wire in two and threw it down on to gravel now wet with his blood. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Cold air was whistling through the hole, but he forced himself not to look; no good could come from seeing the severity of his injury. He had undoubtedly seen worse, and blood would fix it, no matter how bad it was.

Dracula turned, his face twisting with hatred, a thick growl rising from his throat, and looked for the vampire girl.
She
had done this to him, he was certain; had shot him in the back like a coward. Before him, the dark expanse of the forest loomed, and even with his remarkable eyesight, he could see nothing moving between the trunks of the trees. Then he spun back round, suddenly aware that he had been still for too long, that he had again presented his back as a target, and caught the vampire girl by the wrist as she thrust a stake towards his chest.

“Not fast enough,” he growled. “Not this time.”

The girl threw herself backwards, trying to dislodge his grip, her face blazing with anger. Dracula was dragged forward several steps, surprised by her strength and speed. He dug his heels in, then twisted his hand and snapped her wrist with a loud crack.

The colour disappeared from the girl’s face as though it had been drained away, and she let out a guttural scream of pain. But even as the noise burst from her mouth, she swung her other hand, connecting solidly with the point of his jaw, sending him staggering backwards. Dracula bore down, and lifted her into the air, keeping himself clear of her swinging fist and kicking feet. He bent her arm behind her back, snarling with pleasure as he felt the bones in her shattered wrist grind together, drawing a scream of even greater pitch from her. Then he grabbed the back of the girl’s head with his free hand, and slammed her face first into the gravel with all his strength.

The ground shook with the impact.

The girl went instantly limp.

Dracula released his grip and stood up, a smile of dreadful satisfaction on his blood-smeared face.

Got you,
he thought.

For a fleeting millisecond that he would never have acknowledged to anybody, a bright pillar of fear had burst into life in his stomach. The treacherous vampire was remarkably powerful, almost as quick and strong as Valeri had been, and Dracula was still reeling from the fate that had befallen his oldest servant when the odds against him had finally become too great. The eldest Rusmanov had fought with honour and courage, and with great dedication to the protection of his master, but he was gone. And if Valeri could be destroyed, then who was to say that same fate could not befall him?

But now the vampire girl lay broken at his feet, and he could turn his attention to Valentin, and to the boy who had wielded the killing stake. Once their spilled blood was added to that of their friends, the battle would finally be over, and the future would belong to him.

Jamie flew across the courtyard, Valentin Rusmanov at his side, his eyes gleaming in the lights of the transport helicopters and the glow of the full moon.

In the distance, he saw Dracula struggling with an Operator, holding the soldier at arm’s length, then grimaced with revulsion as the unfortunate soul was smashed to the ground, and lay still.

Nobody could have survived that,
he thought.
One more person who gave everything trying to save us all. One more victim to avenge.

Valentin pulled ahead of him as they approached their target, his damaged face curled into a smile of seemingly vast pleasure. The youngest Rusmanov crashed into Dracula’s knees, sending his former master spinning up into the air, a look of surprise on his narrow face. Jamie soared upwards, marvelling at how quickly flying had come to feel almost natural, and met the first vampire in the air, hammering both of his fists down on to the back of his head. Dracula plummeted to the ground like a stone, sending up a cloud of dust as he hit the gravel with an impact that would have killed a normal man. But he was on his feet again instantly, his face a red mask of rage, his eyes the colour of death.

“You dare?” he screamed. “You dare put your hands on me?”

Jamie dropped to the ground beside Valentin and faced him.

“Your time has passed,” said Valentin, his voice low and steady. “There is no place for you in this world.”

“This world?” bellowed Dracula. “This world is mine, to do with exactly as I please.”

“I beg to differ,” said Paul Turner, arriving at Jamie’s side with his T-Bone at his shoulder, his pale grey eyes as clear as ever.

Jamie felt a surge of pride rush through him. They had come through the fire, his colleagues and friends; they had overcome odds that most would have thought insurmountable, and now they would end what they had started, here and now.

He looked round, and frowned as he saw the Operator that had been slammed to the ground by Dracula peeling themselves up from the gravel. The black-clad figure got to its feet, staggered, then raised its head and looked directly at him.

Jamie gasped.

Larissa looked like she had been run over by a bulldozer.

Her face was a mask of blood, running from dozens of cuts and pooling against ridges of bruising and outcrops of displaced bone. But her eyes glowed fiercely as she flew slowly across the courtyard and stood between him and Valentin.

Jamie turned back to face Dracula, and saw something he had never expected to see on the ancient monster’s face.

Fear.

It was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but it had been there.

He’s scared,
thought Jamie.
He saw what happened to Valeri and he doesn’t know if he can take us all.

Behind him, heavy footsteps crunched across the gravel, and when hot air blasted across the back of his neck, accompanied by a growl that, under normal circumstances, would have turned his insides to water, Jamie knew exactly who, or rather
what
, had joined them.

“You will pay for what you have done here today,” growled Dracula, his black eyes flitting back and forth along the line of Operators and vampires. “They will write stories about the horrors you will suffer. Your deaths will be
legendary.
”

Paul Turner was evidently in no mood to listen; without responding, he fired his T-Bone at the ancient vampire’s heart. Dracula leapt out of the way of the projectile, howling with a fury that seemed on the verge of outrage, then was hit from three sides by Jamie, Larissa and Valentin. They bore the screaming, thrashing monster to the ground, shouting for a stake, for someone to bring a stake. Turner rushed forward, drawing one from his belt, and elbowed Larissa aside.

For a glorious moment, Jamie saw Dracula’s chest exposed as he and Valentin clung to the first vampire and Turner drew back his arm.

Then the moment was gone.

With strength that, even to Jamie, seemed impossible, Dracula swung his arms together, crunching him against Valentin. His grip failed him as he tumbled to the ground, crying out in pain; it felt like his back had been broken. He rolled over in time to see Dracula leap into the air, narrowly avoiding the huge wolf form of Frankenstein as it lunged for his ankles, and hover above the courtyard, his arms outstretched.

“Loyal subjects!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the battlefield. “To me!”

Then he shot up into the night sky like a bullet, followed by the remainder of Valeri’s army, and was gone.

For a long moment, nobody moved, or spoke.

Silence descended over the courtyard, as the surviving Operators processed the reality that the battle was over. Larissa stared up at the sky, her ruined face momentarily forgotten, her heart pounding in her chest.

Missed him,
she thought.
One chance, and we missed it.

“No,” said Valentin, as though he could read her mind. “This ends now, one way or the other.” He shot into the sky and vanished in the direction his former master had fled.

“I have to go too,” she said. “I have to help him.”

“No,” said Paul Turner, regarding her with his usual cold expression. “It’s over, Larissa. We have men and women here who need our help.”

“To hell with them,” she said, far more callously than she intended. “If Dracula gets away, then every dead Operator gave their life for nothing. You have to see that!”

“It’s over,” repeated Turner.

Larissa looked desperately to Jamie for help, her eyes glowing crimson, her hands trembling; she felt as though she was on the verge of tears.

So close,
she thought.
Damn it, we were so close.

“Larissa’s right, sir,” said Jamie. “She could help. Between her and Valentin, it might be enough. There might still be a chance.”

“How many times must I repeat myself, Lieutenant?” asked Turner, his voice low and full of danger. “I’m telling you this is finished.”

“Where’s the Director?” asked Jamie. “Where’s Cal?”

“He’s gone,” said Turner, his face momentarily creasing with pain.

Jamie stared at the Security Officer. “What do you mean, gone?” he asked.

“I mean he’s dead, Jamie,” said Turner. “Which makes me Interim Director of Blacklight, and I am telling you,
both of you
, that we have wounded Operators who need our help. I want you to find the most seriously injured, fly them back to the Loop, then return here as quickly as you can. Is that clear?”

Larissa felt anger sweep up through her. “I can’t do that, sir,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Turner turned the full weight of his icy stare on her. “You will follow my order, Lieutenant Kinley, or you will be court-martialled,” he said. “There are good men and women lying out there, men and women who are our friends, and who fought with everything they had. You will not abandon them now, when they need you the most.”

“Yes,” said a voice. “She will.”

Larissa turned towards it, and felt her heart break in her chest.

Henry Seward was standing in front of her, holding tightly to Angela Darcy. He was horribly thin, his skin a ruin of scars and bruises, his hair white and lank, a black patch covering one of his eye sockets. But his visible eye was clear, and his mouth was set in a firm line of determination that she knew all too well.

“Henry,” said Turner, his eyes widening with obvious concern. “You should be—”

“I should be here, Paul,” said Seward, his voice a rasp of effort. “I am still the Director of our Department, as far as I am aware.”

Turner winced, and nodded.

“Lieutenant Carpenter,” he said. “Do as Major Turner ordered. Quickly now.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jamie, and raced away across the battlefield. Seward watched him go, then turned to Larissa, and smiled.

“Go after Dracula,” he said. “Now. While there is still time.”

Larissa smiled back at the Director, and hurled herself into the air.

Dracula flew south-east, burning with the shame of having been forced to retreat.

His mouth was full of fresh blood; as soon as he was clear of the château, he had taken hold of the nearest of Valeri’s followers, ripped out the man’s throat with his teeth, and drunk until he was sated. The new skin that had filled the hole in his chest fizzed and itched, and as he felt the blood revive him, felt his strength return, the shame grew hotter and sharper.

Part of his brain was whispering that he had nobody but himself to blame, that he had underestimated his enemy and been too confident, but he pushed the thought away with an audible snarl. If it had not been for Valentin’s sickening act of fratricide, the battle would surely now be won, and all of vampire-kind would be looking towards a future in which they were the dominant species on the planet, with him as their ruler. Instead, he had been undone by something that could not have been predicted: that Valeri would die at his brother’s hand, leaving his master to fight alone.