The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (2 page)

“Someday you’ll be a supervisor and then you can boss other people around.”

“Can you give me a hand?”

Patterson locked his fingers together and crouched. When Marlowe placed his foot in his hands, Patterson stood up and lifted his friend into the tunnel opening. Marlowe lost his footing and nearly fell out, but quickly regained his hold and started climbing. He crawled up a feet few and stopped.

“Jesus, man. It stinks up here.”

“What’s it smell like?” Patterson worried about a gas leak.

“Remember that nest of dead rats we found last year? It smells like that, only a lot worse.”

“No big deal. Something crawled up there and died, that’s all.”

“Maybe we should call the police.”

“Don’t be such a wuss,” chided Patterson. “Go on. The dead can’t hurt you.”

The hunters stopped
at an intersection of sewer lines. The sanitation line continued ahead of them. A second one branched off to their left at a ninety-degree angle. A retaining wall one foot high stretched across it. On the other side of the wall, the sewer was clean, with only a few pools of clear water near the walls.

Drake turned to Jim and motioned toward the branch. “Is this the way to the row houses?”

Jim pulled the map from his pouch and shone his flashlight on it. “According to this, that’s a storm drain line. It runs for about a hundred yards before it passes under the row houses.”

Drake tapped his finger on the graphic representing the string of row houses. “And that’s where we’ll find the nest.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Jim.

“It’s the ideal place for one. Those row houses are large enough to easily hold a nest. And there are no other occupied buildings around, so a nest could thrive there for months and stay undetected.” Drake reached under his jacket and withdrew a stake. “Let’s rock.”

Sitting in the
driver’s seat of the Ram and fondling the two-way radio, Jessica contemplated for the umpteenth time checking in with Drake. She did not notice the Metro Police squad car pull up behind the truck until the driver switched on the flashing blues and gave her a brief burst from the siren. Jessica looked up into the rearview mirror. Shit. The squad car had parked over the open manhole. She didn’t need this.

The officer opened the door and stepped out. Jessica quickly sized him up. She estimated him at about six feet in height and weighing in at over two hundred pounds, but none of it fat. He had a well-toned physique that, although not intimidating, would certainly make most people think twice before challenging him. As the officer approached, Jessica noticed that he had not taken out his ticket book or placed his hand on his service revolver, which meant he did not view this stop as a potential threat. Maybe she could bluff her way out of this. Reaching up with her right hand, she unfastened the second and third buttons of her blouse.

The officer stopped by the driver’s door of the Ram and leaned forward. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Is everything okay?”

“No problem, officer. I broke down. That’s all.” Jessica shifted slightly in the driver’s seat, trying to display cleavage. His nameplate read Sergeant Wilson. Why did that name sound familiar?

“Do you need me to call a tow truck?”

“No, thanks. Someone’s coming to get me.”

“Good enough, ma’am. Just please turn on your flashers so no one hits you.”

“Sure.” Jessica went to turn on the hazard lights, only to realize she had no idea where to locate the switch. She fumbled around with various switches on the dashboard and steering column before finally finding it. By then, her unfamiliarity with the vehicle had made Wilson suspicious.

“Ma’am, if I could see your driver’s license, please.”

“Certainly.”

This is great, Jessica said to herself. Things can’t get much worse. She rummaged through her purse, took out her wallet and opened it, then pulled out her license and handed it over.

“And your registration, ma’am.”

Okay. Things could get worse. Jessica looked around the cab. She pulled down the visor. Nothing. She searched through the glove compartment. Nothing. She looked in the island between the front seats. Still nothing.

“Is there a problem?”

“No.” Jessica turned back to Wilson. “The truck belongs to my boyfriend, and he went to get a tow. He probably has the registration with him.”

“I see.” Wilson moved back two steps and placed his right hand on his service revolver. “Please step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”

Jessica slid out of the Ram and closed the driver’s door behind her. Wilson motioned for her to move away from the vehicle and into the space between the truck and the squad car. Keeping Jessica in his peripheral vision, he examined her driver’s license. His eyes suddenly lit up. “Your name is Jessica Reynolds, ma’am?”

“That’s me.”

“With
The Washington Standard
?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The same Jessica Reynolds who wrote that expose on how some Washington cops were getting freebies from the city’s hookers in return for not busting them?”

Jessica sighed. Things could get much, much worse.

“You mentioned me several times in that article.”

“I didn’t think anyone read it.” Jessica sounded more flippant than she wanted to.

“Oh, they did. My supervisor, for one. He suspended me for two weeks without pay. And my fiancée. She broke off our engagement. But not before screwing a couple of my buddies on the force and humiliating me.”

Jessica thought of a dozen responses, all of them smart-ass comebacks that only would get here into more trouble. At a momentary loss for words, all she could say was, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, ma’am. You were just doing your job. As I’m doing mine.” Wilson removed his citation book from his back pocket. “By the way, did you know your license expired two months ago? Please turn around and place both hands on the bed of the truck.”

The situation had just gone into full FUBAR mode.

Marlowe struggled up
the tunnel, finding it difficult to maintain his footing because of the moisture that covered the walls. It had taken him almost ten minutes, and he was still a few feet from the top. Even worse, the higher he climbed the stronger the stench became. His eyes watered and his stomach threatened to heave from the intensity. He fought back the urge to vomit, not wanting to climb back down through his own puke.

“Everything okay?” Patterson called out from below.

“I’m almost there. But this thing is slippery as hell. Coming down is gonna be a bitch.”

“Forget it, then. We’ll note what we found in the log and check it out later.”

“I came this far. Hang on.”

Reaching the top, Marlowe made certain of his footing and hoisted himself so his upper body extended over the edge. He turned his head to the left, letting the beam from the hard hat’s flashlight fall on the opposite wall.

Several desiccated bodies in various stages of decomposition littered the floor. The corpses swarmed with large, reddish-brown cockroaches. To his right, near the edge of the tunnel, lay a body no more than a couple of days old. Its neck had been torn open, allowing the body to bleed out. Swollen by internal gas, the abdomen had burst, draining a steady stream of fluid that flowed into the tunnel, which explained it being so slippery. Maggots churned through the organs, devouring the decaying remains.

Marlow swallowed back the vomit rising in his throat.

“What do you see?” called Patterson.

“Jesus, man. This place is a charnel house. There’s half a dozen corpses up here. Looks like junkies have been using this place as a drug house, and several of them OD’d. One of them looks like he’s been dead only a few—”

A noise to his rear caught Marlowe’s attention. He spun his head around. The light shone on someone crouched behind him near the edge of the tunnel. The person kept their head lowered, so Marlowe could not see the face. It had a ghastly pallid color. Probably some junkie on an extended high who hadn’t seen the light of day in weeks.

“Hey, buddy. What the fuck’s going o—”

The thing looked up, glaring at Marlowe with a face that was not human. The eyes glowed at him from sunken sockets, the blood-red irises surrounded by sickeningly yellow pupils. Black matted hair hung over a slightly-protruding and deeply-furrowed forehead. The shriveled lips pulled back to reveal stained, two-inch-long fangs. A guttural snarl emanated from its throat.

Marlowe started to scream when the thing lunged, plunging its fangs into his throat.

Patterson heard Marlowe
talking, followed by a blood-curdling scream. He directed his flashlight up the tunnel.

“Ted, are you all right?”

No answer. In the dim light, Patterson could see his friend thrashing.

“Hang on. I’m coming up.”

He had no idea how, though. Patterson was looking for something to climb onto when he heard the dull thud of a body hitting concrete. He looked up to see Marlowe sliding down the tunnel. Patterson jumped aside a split second before Marlowe tumbled out and crashed onto the sewer floor. Patterson bent over to check on him. Part of Marlowe’s spinal column protruded through a mass of torn flesh and tissue where his head used to be. As Patterson stared in shock and disbelief, something rolled out of the tunnel and dropped beside him. Marlowe’s head stared up at him, its eyes glazed and frozen in terror.

Movement from inside the tunnel caught Patterson’s attention. He looked up to see three things scurrying down toward him, head first. Through the minimal light from the flashlight, all he could make out were fangs and glowing red eyes. Whatever these things were, they were not human. He did not intend to stick around long enough to find out.

Leaving his dead friend behind, Patterson headed back the way he came, running as fast as his two hundred and fifty pound bulk would carry him.

Marlowe’s scream reached
the hunters. Drake and Alison had heard that anguished cry before. Too many times. They instantly knew what it meant: someone had found the nest, and paid for that discovery with his life. Without saying a word, the hunters ran toward the scream.

They had covered ten yards when they nearly collided with a large man in a sewer worker’s uniform coming in the other direction.

“Run,” Patterson panted, gasping for breath. “They’re right… behind me.”

The sound of approaching vampires drew close. Drake could tell by the snarls that these things were hungry, which boded ill.

“How many?” Drake asked.

“Fuck that,” said Patterson. “We gotta—”

“How many?” Drake asked again, more forcibly this time.

“Three.”

“Jim, take him back to the pick-up. We’ll hold them off as long as possible.”

“No arguments here.” Jim pushed Patterson in the direction they had just come from. “Move!”

As the other two beat a hasty retreat, Drake unholstered his Glocks and Alison raised the shotgun into firing position.

They did not have long to wait.

The three vampires lunged out of the darkness, their hideous features barely distinguishable in the light from the weapons-mounted flashlights. Drake and Alison waited until they closed to within ten feet before firing.

The first round of buckshot tore a massive hole in the lead vampire’s chest and stopped it in its tracks. Alison chambered a second round and fired again, knocking the vampire into the second one in line. They lay in a writhing heap. Alison pumped two more rounds into the mass of undead.

Drake fired three rounds from each Glock into the third vampire as it jumped over its fallen brethren. Each .40 caliber round punched large holes into its chest, knocking it to the sewer floor. Then the holy water began to seep into the wounds. The vampire thrashed around in agony. Drake fired four more rounds into it. The vampire arched its body in pain, rolled onto its hands and knees, and scurried back down the sewer. Drake fired at its back until the chambers of both Glocks locked open. He ejected the empty magazines and quickly reloaded.

Untangling itself from its wounded brethren, the second vampire lunged at Alison. She aimed the shotgun at its chest. Before she could fire, it sprang onto the ceiling, crawled over her head, and dropped to the ground behind her. Alison spun around to shoot, but it raced away.

“It’s going after Jim,” she warned.

“Look out!”

Alison turned back just as the first vampire sprang at her. She raised the shotgun and fired. The vampire’s head exploded. Blood gushed from its neck, splattering the hunters and the sewer walls. It disintegrated in mid-lunge, showering Alison in ash and momentarily blinding her.

Drake finished reloading and chambered a round in each Glock. He heard the vampire that had retreated approaching for another attack.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Alison shook her head to clear away the ash. “Roger that.”

“And keep your eyes open in case that other one decides to backtrack on us.”

Alison led the way back down the storm drain line, with Drake glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to check on their pursuer. On his third look, he saw the vampire closing to within ten feet. Drake stopped and spun around, firing eight rounds into its chest. All eight found their mark, ripping chunks out of the vampire’s torso until Drake could see through its abdomen. The vampire faltered. It leaned against the wall, grimacing in pain. Then it came for them again, only much slower.

Alison reached the intersection with the sanitation line and turned right, heading toward the Ram. Drake stopped her and motioned in the other direction. “This way. I want to lead it away from the others.”

“You’re the boss.”

Drake shot a quick look down the branch line and saw the vampire still limping after them.

Jim and Patterson
reached the access ladder that led up to Jessica. Patterson fell back against the wall, gasping. His chest heaved as he struggled for air. His shirt clung to his body, drenched in sweat. Jim thought he might have a coronary right there in the sewer.

“Leave me here… kid… and save… yourself.”

“No way. We’re almost there.”