Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (8 page)

“These guys are getting ready to head out to the caves,” Lenny said. “A different team goes every night.”

Jude turned in a circle, trying to take it all in.

“Field lab is over there.” Lenny waved at a long, tubular canvas tent.

They walked down the well-lit path, past tents that were covered with a foil-like material. A pretty woman stepped out of the trees, gripping a Playmate cooler. Her platinum-streaked bangs fell past her eyebrows. Her lips were pursed, as if she were getting ready to whistle. Her breasts filled out the white T-shirt, and the khaki pants hugged her narrow hips.

Lenny thumped Jude’s arm. “That’s Tatiana Kaskov,”
he said. “The other team leader. A Russian linguist. But don’t let her looks fool you. She can handle herself in the bush.”

“That’s good to know,” Jude said.

“Tatiana?” Lenny called. “Dr. Barrett is here. You want to brief him?”

“Not now. After the poker game.” Her gaze locked onto Jude. Her eyes resembled aquamarine chips, like something in an exotic cocktail, shaved ice and blue curaçao. “You play poker, Barrett?”

Jude hesitated. “I didn’t bring any money.”

“We use blood. Not money.”

“Another time,” he said.

“All right. See you later.” She headed up the path, swinging her cooler.

“Let’s find your tent,” Lenny said. “You’re bunking with a guy from Texas.”

“When will I get my netbook?” Jude asked. “Because I need to send an e-mail.”

“I’ll try to find you one. But there’s no Internet access right now. Our satcom has been down for a week.” Lenny stopped in front of a domed tent and banged on the door flap. “Dr. Hamilton? You decent?”

“Hell, yes,” a deep voice said. The zipper came down and a tall, beefy man stepped out. A long, bulbous nose dominated Hamilton’s square face. His white-blond hair was clipped short at the sides and swooped down in the back, flipping over his collar.

“What’s up, buddy?” Hamilton said, his bright green eyes shifting from Lenny to Jude. His quick smile projected the charisma of a political candidate.

Lenny seemed immune to the man’s Southern charm. He introduced the two scientists and almost fled down the path, his hair bobbing around his ears.

Hamilton clapped Jude on the back. “Make yourself at home. Your cot is by the window.”

Jude stepped inside the tent. It was set up like a dorm room, a bed and a metal desk at each end. Hamilton’s gear was heaped on the left side, clothes and digging tools spread out on the wooden floor, as if he were identifying his territory the way a dog marks bushes and trees.

Jude walked toward his cot and set down his gear. Dr. Hamilton hadn’t moved from the door, craning his neck. His massive shoulders filled out his khaki shirt, and each time he took a breath, the seams gave off an audible creak, as if the fabric could barely contain his grit and girth. Every pore in his body exuded a feral masculinity. Suddenly Jude understood how the Neanderthal had disappeared—someone like Dr. Hamilton had gotten rid of them.

Jude opened his backpack, lifted the photo of Caro and Vivi, and set it on his desk.
Only twenty-nine more days, and I’ll be home
, he told himself.

Hamilton stepped away from the door. “That your family?” he asked, nodding at the picture.

“Yes.” Jude smiled.

Hamilton rubbed his forehead. His fingers were broad and tapered at the end. “Your wife is real pretty,” he said. “But I didn’t think Al-Dîn hired married men.”

Jude shrugged. “What would that matter?”

“The bush can be deadly.” Hamilton paused.

Jude nodded. He had the feeling that Hamilton was
sizing him up. But why? Maybe he didn’t want a roommate.

Hamilton pointed to a cooler. “You want some blood? It’s good with ice and whiskey. I brought a fifth of bourbon. Found me some honey and wild mint earlier this evening. Let me fix you a drink.”

“Thanks,” Jude said.

Hamilton walked to his side of the tent and opened the ice chest. As he made their beverages, he kept glancing at Jude. “Some weird stuff has been going down.”

Jude frowned. He seriously didn’t want to hear this.

Hamilton carried two plastic cups to Jude’s cot. He handed one to Jude, holding his gaze. “Nobody told you about the attacks?”

“What?”

“Bats. Big sons of bitches. They been picking off the team.” Hamilton spread his hands apart, ice clinking in his glass. “I’m not lying. I saw them. Out here, bats are at the top of the food chain.”

Was this guy crazy? Jude tilted his cup, a fragrant green sprig bobbing in the blood and whiskey. Was that really mint or some type of hallucinogen?

Hamilton swallowed his drink in one gulp. “You don’t believe me.”

Jude thought a moment before he spoke. “Lenny didn’t mention the attacks.”

“If he had, would you have come to Gabon?” Hamilton shrugged. “I wouldn’t have.”

Jude let that remark slide. He’d just met Hamilton. Vampirism occasionally brought out psychotic tendencies,
such as paranoia. He took another sip of his drink. It cooled the back of his throat.

“I know this must sound crazy,” Hamilton said. “But it’s true.”

“Why would bats attack a camp?” Jude asked.

“For dinner.”

“Bats aren’t carnivorous.”

“These are.” Hamilton’s eyes held a fierce gleam. “You should’ve seen the carnage.”

“And you’re sure they’re bats?”

“Yeah. I’m a cave archaeologist.” Hamilton tossed the cup on the floor, and walked back to his cot. “So, what’s your field, buddy?”

“Biochemistry.”

“What area?”

“DNA sequencing and synthesis.”

Hamilton whistled. “Bet you’re real smart. How long you been a vampire?”

“Almost four years,” Jude said.

“I been one since 1938.” He lifted his hand, dismissing those years with a broad sweep. “I got a few more decades kicking in me. I don’t want to die here. Do you?”

“No.”

“If you look out for me, I’ll look out for you. Deal?”

“Okay.”

Hamilton’s eyes glistened. “Us scientists need to look out for one another.”

Jude finished his drink, pouring the bloody ice melt into his mouth. He set the empty cup on the desk, then stripped to his T-shirt and boxers and got into bed. He
could feel a shift in the outside temperature, a sudden coolness as the wind broke through the canopy, setting tree limbs to creaking. The weight of the air seemed to push into the tent and settle against Jude’s sternum, the same feeling that he’d experienced the night he’d been turned into a vampire.

Four years earlier, he and Caro had gone to an Egyptian monastery to look for artifacts. Jude had still been human, and Caro had just found out that she was pregnant. She’d told him about the baby at the top of Mount Sinai. The next morning, they’d returned to the monastery, feeling safe among the monks—some were human, some were immortal. That night, a crazed human had breached the thick, fourth-century walls and attacked Caro. When Jude tried to rescue her, he’d gotten shot. Raphael and his men had saved her and they’d brought down the shooter, but Jude had been mortally wounded. Caro told the monks to transform him into a vampire. The following day, Jude awoke in a dark room, his head shaved, a crushing force moving through his chest. He’d sensed that something worse was about to befall him and Caro—and it almost had. The cabal had planned to put Jude into a rehab program for novice vampires and keep Caro alive until the baby was born. But Raphael had saved them again. He’d helped them escape into the Sinai Desert, and for a while they’d been safe. However, immortality had not put an end to their problems.

Now, all these years later, he was deep in a rain forest, and he had the same unbearable weight in his chest and the unshakable feeling that he was about to lose something irreplaceable.

Before dawn, Jude and Hamilton got dressed and walked to the mess pavilion.

“Something is wrong with this part of the bush,” Hamilton said. “It’s too quiet.”

Jude hated to agree, but the air was still and empty. No primates chattered in the trees. No birds flitted between the branches. No elephants stood in the
bai
.

Hamilton pointed to a tall, rangy middle-aged man who stood outside a tent. He wore a disposable surgical mask and gloves. “That’s Walpole. A veteran from an earlier expedition. He’s British like you. A virologist. Obsessed with Ebola.”

“How long has he been in the bush?” Jude asked.

“Too long,” Hamilton said.

They stepped into the mess pavilion and got in line for the bottled blood. Hamilton gestured at a younger man who stood a few feet away. “He’s another veteran,” Hamilton whispered. “Nick Parnell. A California entomologist. Parnell must’ve gotten his neck bitten in the sixties. Maybe a surfer vampire got him. He calls everyone
dude
. I don’t know how a slick fella like him ended up in purgatory.”

Nick Parnell shuffled forward in the line. His long blond hair was pulled back into a club, tied with multicolored beads. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt, denim cut-offs, and acid green flip-flops.

Gunfire boomed in the distance. Jude glanced out of the tent, toward the clearing. A black cloud streaked across the grainy sky. The mercenaries stood at the edge of the clearing, firing AK-47s at the cloud.

The mess hall emptied. Vampires raced across the path, running into tents. Jude looked around for Hamilton—he was gone.

“You might want to take cover,” Parnell called. He stood by the cooler, holding a half-empty blood bottle.

“What’s going on?” Jude asked.

“The Batmobile has arrived,” Parnell said, then drained the bottle.

A massive creature flew by the mess pavilion, its body the size of a goat, its leathery wings broad as a sofa. Jude ducked.

The bat whizzed over a path and knocked down a bald-headed man. The chap scrambled to his feet, and the bat pursued him into the trees. More gunfire discharged.

Cries rose up as the bald man raced out of the trees and headed toward the mess pavilion. Two bats chased him, emitting distinct echolocation clicks. They were hunting in a team.

Jude got to his feet, his chest sawing, heart clenching, perspiration streaming down his sides.

Parnell put down his bottle and grabbed Jude’s arm. “Come with me, dude.”

They hurried out of the pavilion. In the distance Jude saw the bats swarming down a path. He followed Parnell into a smaller tent and they secured the window flaps. There was a rustling sound, and two slippered feet jutted out from beneath a cot. “Get out of my tent,” a disembodied British voice called. “I don’t want to breathe your germs.”

“Lighten up, Walpole,” Parnell said.

A man with a round face pushed out from under the
cot. “Put on a surgical mask,” Walpole said. His eyes widened when he saw Jude. “You, too. The box is on the table. You can’t be too careful in this part of the bush. It’s crawling with pathogens.”

From outside, Jude heard more gunshots. A clattering noise went on and on, as if tin cans were rolling off the edge of a building.

Jude pointed vaguely at the window. “Those bats are huge.”

“Like winged Doberman pinschers,” Walpole said.

“Bigger than a Dobie,” Parnell said.

From the
bai
came a raw scream.

Jude lowered his head.
I can’t stay here
, he thought.
I’ve got to resign.

“Yeah, try to resign,” Parnell said. “That’ll be fun to watch.”

“No, it won’t,” Walpole said.

Jude looked up. Had they read his mind?

“We did,” Walpole said, and his gaze sharpened. “Who is Meep?”

Jude hesitated. “A friend.”

Walpole gave Parnell a long look.

“Don’t panic,” Parnell told Jude. “Walpole and I are the only two telepaths in the camp.”

The gunfire ended. Parnell moved to the window and undid the covering, wincing at the sudden brightness. “The flying Dobies are gone.”

He closed the flap and rubbed his eyes.

Jude started toward the door.

“Wait, dude. You’ll need this,” Parnell called. He held out a metallic blanket, like what they give runners after
a marathon. Stay under the trees and run like hell. Maybe you won’t burn.”

“Thanks,” Jude said, stretching the blanket over his head. When he got to his tent, Hamilton leaped off his cot.

“Whoa, Jude. Thank God you’re not dead. It would be a shame to die on your first day in the bush.”

Jude pulled off the blanket.

“You’d better hide that,” Hamilton said. “Or Lenny and them will confiscate it.”

“Why?”

“You still don’t get it. If you’ve got UV gear, you can escape in daylight, while everybody is asleep.”

Hamilton lifted his mattress from the cot and pointed to a silver wrap. It resembled a long, thick wad of tinfoil. “See? I got me one, too.”

Jude turned to his cot and stuffed Parnell’s blanket under the mattress. When he looked up, Hamilton was pacing the length of the tent.

“I hate to dump more crap on you, Jude. But there’s a lot of talk around here. Once you sign up with Al-Dîn, they don’t let you go. People are wanting to get the hell out. If we don’t go soon, we’ll die.”

Jude nodded. “When do we leave?”

“I got a dig scheduled for tonight. When I get back, we’ll put our heads together and come up with a plan.”