That Thing At the Zoo - 01 (3 page)

Jimmy was walking around my car, jaw slung down, fingertips gently gliding across the black-painted fender. She’s a 1966 Mercury Comet Cyclone GT and she is a beauty. She’s not flashy, shaking her ass to every wannabe hot-rodder on the strip. Instead she was low key, as low key as a classic musclecar could be anyways. Stocky and built for power, but but touched with the grace of a predator, sitting low to the road like a great white shark. I let Jimmy admire her while I walked to the trunk and slid my key home.

He came around to stand beside me. “This is a real nice car, man.”

I nodded. I know it is.

“Got a Hemi in it?”

I shook my head. “Souped-up 351 Windsor.”

Hemis are the epitome of redneck hot-rod cool. They are considered by most to be the best motor ever built. They are badass, but not the only motor out there that is. The Windsor and Cleveland motors are just as boss and can also be hot-rodded to the max. Jimmy nodded at the information. The trunk swung up and his mouth fell open again.

Inside the trunk I had my spare tire, a thirty-gallon fuel cell, and a
lot
of guns. Not knowing what I was hunting, I wanted to be prepared. Reaching behind my back, I pulled out my back-up gun and laid it in the trunk. It’s a .44 caliber Taurus snub-nose revolver. Dead reliable, which is what your back-up gun should be. I picked up a thick leather belt and strapped it around my waist. It had loops that held spare clips for my Desert Eagle. With it on, I had six more clips than I started with, which was an extra fifty-four silver-coated bullets.

Silver bullets are standard in my business. A company called Orion Outfitters in Massachusetts makes mine. They are silver-coated hollow points, with a drop of silver nitrate sealed in the tip with paraffin. They shoot like butter. A lot of supernatural things can be harmed by silver and nothing else. For the things that don’t need silver, well, they are still bullets.

Once the belt was in place I slipped my back up gun into the holster attached to it. A silver-coated bowie knife hung on my left hip from the same belt.

I picked up a shotgun. It was an old Stephens 12 gauge that I had “gunsmithed.” By “gunsmithed” I mean I hacksawed the barrel down to eighteen inches, took out the wooden rod that kept it from holding a full six shells, and whacked the stock down to a duct tape–wrapped pistol grip.

Told you I had some redneck in me.

I loaded it and slipped an elastic bandolier over my bicep that held another six shells filled with silver shot. Flexing my arm to make sure it wasn’t going to slip around, I reached to close the trunk.

Jimmy put his hand on the lid to stop it. “Think I could use a gun?”

Digging around, I found a Glock .40 caliber with two spare clips. I hate Glocks. They don’t feel right in my hand, but they are reliable and intuitive, a good fit for someone unfamiliar with firearms. Jimmy took it from me.

“It’s loaded and doesn’t have a safety, so watch what you are doing.”

He nodded and reached behind his back with the gun. I put my hand up in a “Stop” motion. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Putting this thing in the back of my pants like they do on TV.”

“Don’t do that. That is the most dumbass thing Hollywood shows people doing. Guns don’t ride in waist-bands like that, they fall out.”

“You’ve got a gun back there.”

“I’ve also got a holster back there.”

“What do I do with it then?”

“Just carry it in your hand and don’t shoot me by accident. That would really piss me off.” I looked up at the sun disappearing behind the horizon. I felt it drop out of sight like a snap against all of my skin. Jimmy the zookeeper followed me toward the gate for the gorilla enclosure, gun in hand.

The hunt was afoot.

The moon came up fast and full, throwing its light across the enclosure. It hung huge in the night sky, throwing clear off-white light over the gorilla habitat. Deep pockets of shadows, stark and black, cut away from trees that jutted up making abstract silhouettes. The gorillas had all been put away in the concrete bunker that each enclosure had for quarantine and medical care. Locked away safe and sound. Their muffled howls and screams carried across the breeze. So did their smell. It wafted into my nose. It smelled a little like deep-roast coffee mixed with BO.

I stepped carefully, following the perimeter. The concrete wall loomed fifteen feet over my head. Jimmy stayed right behind me, nearly stepping on my heels as I walked. My supernatural Spidey sense began to buzz, rattling the inside of my skull. I threw my hand up to stop him. The raw rubber stench of urine slapped me in the nose. Water filled my eyes and I had to fight down dinner. Different from the ammonia and cat litter smell from the Lion Habitat, this was a cloying, yellow smell, thick as fog.

Jimmy gagged behind me. His fingers flew to pinch his nose shut. “What the hell is that?”

Pulling out my maglight, my finger flicked on the ultraviolet bulb with a click. The white-blue circle swept across my boots as I moved it back and forth, looking for a sign. The ground was clean, just dirt and rocks and grass. Sweeping the UV light up, it hit the wall and flared across a splash of white. I traveled the light up the wall, following the illuminated trail. It looked like someone had dumped a five-gallon bucket of paint down the entire wall. It ran in a foot-wide path of splatter and splashes, tapering off as it disappeared behind the low green shrubs at the wall’s base.

A hollow buzzing filled my head, like a rattle in the hands of a dead baby. Our creature had marked its territory with some supernatural mojo that was tripping my Spidey sense.

“Is that pee?”

I nodded at the question, answering Jimmy from the side of my mouth. “Yep. Our friend has been marking his territory.” At least we were on the right track now. I handed the flashlight to Jimmy. “Hold this; aim it at the mark.”

He took it from me. Slinging the shotgun over my shoulder, I reached for a pouch on my belt. It had plastic vials, like test tubes, full of holy water. Bars use them for shots. Holy water is a good thing to keep on hand in my business, and since Father Mulcahy tends bar at Polecats I always had a ready supply.

Jimmy’s voice was low and whispered, “What the hell are you doin’, man?”

“Getting its attention by spoiling its scent mark.” I kept working, breaking the wax seal with my thumb and popping the rubber cap out. “Now turn your head—I’m shy on a first date.”

A flick of my wrist slung holy water up the wall and across the scent mark. It made a sizzling sound and the buzzing in my head spiked into a hornet’s nest before being drained away. I hoped whatever it was we were hunting would feel it down the line. It was crude, but should be effective at getting us noticed.

I also hoped that whatever it was had holed up in the zoo somewhere. I was betting it had. It had taken three animals that were over five-hundred pounds each in four nights. That’s a lot of need to match and the zoo is one of the few places it could do that in some form of seclusion. I didn’t see this thing straying from such an easy food source.

I moved away from the wall. My legs made long strides across the grass, the smell of piss fading as I walked. Jimmy the zookeeper hustled to catch up with me. He was breathing hard by the time he did, doing a jog-step to keep pace.

“What the hell are you doin’ now?”

“We need some bait. This thing likes to swoop down and grab its victim.”

“But you had me lock up all the animals so they would be safe from it.”

Listening to the night air, not looking at him, I drew out the bowie knife. “I know.”

“So what are you gonna use for bait?”

“Us.” The silver edge gleamed in the full moonlight as I laid it against the skin of my forearm. I keep my knives sharp so there was only a thin flash of burn as I drew it across my arm. The tattooed skin parted, blood welling up behind the slice of the blade. I didn’t cut deep, but it bled freely, running red rivulets down my arm, filling my palm, and dripping off my fingers.

A flick of my hand sent droplets of my blood arcing out onto the grass around us. I try to keep my blood. Too many things out there can use your blood to harm you, but once it hits the earth its magickal properties are grounded out unless it is being used in ritual. This wasn’t ritual; it was bait. Chum in the water so to speak. The cut stopped bleeding, so I wiped the blood off on my jeans.

I turned to Jimmy the zookeeper. “Get ready. I don’t think it will be long.” No, not long at all. The hair on my arms was standing on end, static electricity crackling between each one like tiny Tesla coils. My ability to sense supernatural stuff was wide open and I could feel something coming closer. In my mind’s theater I felt leather and fur rub along the inside of my skin. A crunchy taste filled my mouth, sucking out all the moisture, like eating too much roasted coconut. Whatever we were after was headed our way.

Something flashed into existence over the scent mark on the wall, moving so quick and silent it seemed to appear from thin air. It was black against the whitewashed wall, hanging by a hooked claw. I heard it draw a long inhale through its lungs. It snorted and shook its head, not liking that its scent mark had been desecrated. One inhumanly quick pull swung it to the top of the wall where it squatted, a dark shape against the low moon.

Its head swung slowly from the left to the right, mouth open, breathing in the night scent through glistening fangs. Large triangular ears ran from cheekbones to the top of its flattened skull. A low screech followed the turn of its head, like the rusty screen door on Hell. Its face came around to our direction, low cry vibrating my skin with sound waves. They passed over me as it continued to turn its head. Immediately that monstrous face snapped back towards us and snarled. Red eyes glowed with a satanic light, throwing ruby highlights across a flattened snout and curving wet teeth.

The beast rose, standing on the wall. Clawed arms whipped over its head. The moonlight glowed through thin membrane wings that stretched from knotted hands to cadaverous waist, black veins traced through in relief. One wing was torn, a rip in its center that the moon shone through. It was covered in patches of greasy rat fur, glistening in the night. Where it had skin, it was bare and mottled gray. Anatomy showed it was female, breasts hanging pendulous in a mockery of womanhood. It once was human. It once was alive. Now it was neither. I knew exactly what we were up against.

Nos-fer-fucking-atu.

Pulling down on the slide, I checked the shotgun to make sure there was a shell in the chamber.

Bring it on, bitch.

The Nosferatu launched herself into the air, rising above the wall. She hung suspended, black in front of the moon. My finger jerked tight. The shotgun bucked and roared, spitting sparks. The vampire flashed to the left, out of the blast. Before I could blink, she was on me. Greasy fur rubbed across my face as she smacked into me. Air exploded out of my chest and I was knocked three steps back.

The shotgun swung wide and away, jerking at the end of the sling, which was wrapped around my wrist. I flailed it back around in an arc towards the blood-sucker. With a clatter against a winged arm, it bounced back, the barrel smacking me across the jaw. My ears rang loudly, eyes slammed shut for a split second.

Wind gusted around me. I opened my eyes to see Jimmy the zookeeper pointing the pistol up in the air at the bloodsucker. I lunged for him, knocking it down. The Nosferatu swung wide across the sky, circling slowly back toward us. Her torn wing made her flight stutter and jerk.

“What the hell, man? I had her!” Jimmy said.

I pulled air in big gulps so I could talk, watching the vampire bank to come back around. “Bullets go up, they gotta come down. We have too many houses around here. The shotgun is fine, but pistols have to be shot below the wall.” The zoo wall was thick enough to stop any stray bullets from getting out and hitting innocent bystanders. I yanked the shotgun up into my hands by its tether. It didn’t feel right. Looking down I saw the barrel had bent, cracking the slide in half.

Dammit, the shotgun was useless now, and the Nosferatu had circled around. Flying towards us and picking up speed.

I threw it down and pulled out the Desert Eagle. My fingers closed on Jimmy’s shirt. Wadding the thin cotton up, I jerked him along. My feet pounded the grass as I ran toward a rock outcropping that was about twenty feet away. The skin across my shoulder rippled with sound waves as the Nosferatu shrieked, speeding after us, hot on our trail. The high pitch of it made my eardrums go tinny and start to burn and itch.

The rocks were granite slabs that had been quarried in Georgia and moved here. They were stacked in a shelf. Three of the slabs made an opening that looked like me and Jimmy could fit in. We had to get out from the open sky; the Nosferatu had too much advantage without the shotgun to equalize our odds.

We ran, the bloodsucker gaining on us every step. The opening was getting closer, but it was still too far. The Nosferatu’s shrill cry drove into my brain like a railroad spike, shooting pain from my ears to my teeth and up into my brain to complete the circuit. The pounding of my heart made the pain boil inside my head. Red and black swirled the edges of my vision. Gusts of air from the vampire’s wings beat at my back. The tips of claw-fingered wings brushed the back of my neck as I threw Jimmy into the cave in the rocks.

He tumbled like a bowling ball, crying out as his shin banged against the stone. My feet flew out as I lay into a slide that skittered me across the dirt and into the cave on top of him.

The Nosferatu slammed into the entrance a split second later. She couldn’t fit, too wide across the shoulders with the wings. She sprawled across the entrance, legs and arms splayed out, blocking out the light of the moon. Red eyes flared as she screamed. We were so close that cold, wet spittle flew across both of us. Her teeth gnashed as she folded in a wing and reached towards us. Her hand was gnarled, knotted with tendons and undead strength. The talons on each finger clicked and clacked as they groped in, trying to touch flesh and blood.

I pumped a whole clip into her.

Ten bullets in less than ten seconds. They exploded out of the barrel, spitting fire behind them. The concussion of the blasts pushed the air out of our space as each silver bullet struck undead flesh.

They tore through her, tumbling as they hit, making a bigger wound. Black, dead blood blossomed out of her chest and sprayed back over my face. I was blind as a bat. The vampire blood was cold and sticky, half congealed. My fingers swiped my eyes, clearing my vision, as my other thumb punched the button to release the spent clip. The Nosferatu exploded away in a whoosh of air. I slapped a new clip in and jacked the slide. Another bullet locked and loaded.

I lay still, waiting for the Nosferatu to try again, staring at the night sky through a haze of cordite. It wasn’t dead. Hurt, but not dead. Silver bullets can kill a vampire but only if you take the heart and take the head. Destroying a bloodsucker’s brain and heart is the only way to make sure they are dead. Anything else they can heal with enough time or blood to feed on.

Well, technically you could trap them in the sun or a vat of holy water. Both would kill them with enough exposure. The sun burns them away like radiation on a tumor and holy water is equal to acid for them.

You could also put a wooden stake through its heart. That kills a vampire. I don’t know why it works, just that it does, but good luck getting a wooden stake through a vampire’s defenses and its breastbone.

My ears were filled with the whooshing of my heartbeat and breathing. My hearing was slowly coming back after being obliterated by the blast of my gun. The Desert Eagle trembled in my hands from adrenaline burning through my veins. Every nerve was lit up, looking for the vampire.

Something grabbed my leg behind me.

My heart slammed into my ribcage. I jerked the gun down, finger tight on the trigger, ready to unleash hell again.

Jimmy the zookeeper was pressed against the back of the cave, hands up in front of his face. I had forgotten he was there. My finger eased off the trigger. Eased out the breath I had been holding. That was close. Real damn close.

Jimmy looked between his hands. Slowly he brought them down, eyes wide as he stared at me. His voice shook. “It’s okay man, it’s alright. Be cool. Be cool.”

I moved the pistol so it wasn’t pointing at him anymore. “Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. It ruffled the mullet that had swirled over his face. “What was that thing?”

“A Nosferatu.”

“Like a vampire?”

“Not like—it is a vampire. One that hasn’t been seen in America, but still a vampire.”

My left hand reached into my shirt, pulling out my St. Benedict cross and St. Michael medal that I wore. Vampires hate crosses and holy items like saint medals. Father Mulcahy blessed mine on a regular basis, so they would be some protection. And it doesn’t matter the faith of the person either. An atheist can hide behind a cross just like a Christian and the cross still glows in the presence of a vampire and repels them. Of course, after that I don’t know if he would still be an atheist or not.

Reaching to my waist, I found the leather pouch that held the blessed rosaries. I shook them out; there were three of them. I passed one back to Jimmy the zookeeper. He took it and looked at it. “I’m not Catholic.”

“I’m Catholic enough for the both of us. Hang it around your neck outside of your shirt.” I looped the other two around my gun hand; when they started to glow I would know which direction to shoot.

Slowly I crawled out of the cave, all senses on high alert. Gore was splashed black around the rock edges of the opening and out into the grass. I cast my power around, trying to sense the Nosferatu, but it came up empty. I stood up and waited for Jimmy the zookeeper to scramble out behind me. Standing, he ran his hand across his hair, pushing the front up and back into a semipompadour, continuing on to slide down the back, smoothing it across his neck and shoulders. With his mullet back in effect, he dusted himself off.

“Where’s the gun I gave you?”

He stopped patting himself. His face slowly turned up towards me. “I guess I must have lost it when we ran.”

Shit.

I dug into my belt again, opening the pouch with the holy-water shooters. There were four of them left. Two were empty, big cracks running up the plastic. I must have crushed them when I slid into the cave. I handed them to Jimmy.

“Don’t lose these. They’re holy water. If you get cornered by this damn thing, pop the caps and sling it on it. It’ll get it off you.” I took a quick stock of my weapons. I had the rosaries, the bowie knife, and five more clips for my gun. There was a world of ordinance in the trunk of my car, but I had to stay on this Nosferatu. It was way too dangerous to let loose in the heart of Atlanta.

I’d have to make it work.

My jaw hurt where the shotgun hit me. It wasn’t broken, but I would have one helluva bruise in an hour or so. My side hurt above my hipbone; I would bet it was also bruised from sliding into the cave, either from the clips on my belt or the rocks.

Suck it up and move on.

Looking down, I started following the spotted trail of black vampire blood. It zigzagged across the ground in spits and spurts. Jimmy was a step behind me. I spoke without breaking stride. “How secure are the animals? What are the facilities like?”

“They’re like a bunker, man. All concrete and iron bars. They don’t want any of the animals getting out and they were designed to hold up in case of tornado season.”

Georgia is prone to tornadoes in the spring. The season doesn’t last long, but they can come suddenly and viciously. Tornadoes happen over flat land, which there isn’t much of in the city. Except the forty acres of cleared land for the zoo.

“Any wood or glass doors or windows?” I ask.

“Nope. All metal doors. Any windows are small and covered by steel grates. Why?”

“’Cause we have a wounded vampire on our hands. It’s losing blood, which means it’s losing strength. It’s going to try and get fresh blood so it can heal. If it can’t get to the animals, then it will try for the humans.”

I watched him look at the trail of blood. His eyes widened as he realized what I had already figured out.

The Nosferatu was heading toward the administration building.