The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (27 page)

Rodriguez looked over his shoulder to see Michelle enter holding a clear plastic bag filled with bloodied cloths. She shook her head in good-natured frustration. “Don’t listen to him. He just feels threatened because I like this stuff as much as he does.”

“Three weeks’ vacation and all I can eat,” said Bob in a passable imitation of Boris Karloff.

Michelle handed the bag to Rodriguez. “Here are Fletcher’s personal effects.”

“Thanks. Can I bring these back to the station with me?”

“As long as you sign an itemized list of the contents.”

“We have to be careful about accounting for the deceased’s personal belongings and for every mark on the body,” added Bob. “You’d be surprised how many people would sue to make a buck off of a loved one’s death.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about the body while preparing it?”

“Other than its sex organs were chomped off?” Bob forced a grin. “Seriously, no. I examined the body myself when it arrived.”

“No bite marks on the neck?”

“Nothing like that. The body—”

The stirring on the embalming table attracted everyone’s attention. Rodriguez’ eyes widened in disbelief. Michelle gasped. Bob said it best when he muttered, “Holy fuckin’ Christ.”

Fletcher moved. Nothing dramatic. More like someone stirring in their sleep. As they watched, the cadaver changed. The hydrating muscles became developed and toned. Its fingers extended and its nails elongated into talons. Its face underwent the most severe transformation, with the forehead protruding and becoming deeply-furrowed, and the mouth twisting and churning as something changed underneath the skin. What lay on the table no longer appeared human.

“Oh my God,” rasped Michelle. “Did the embalming fluid do that?”

“I don’t think so,” answered Bob, bending over the cadaver. “I’ve never read of such a reaction—”

The body went rigid, causing the three to jump back. A primal scream bellowed from its lungs, muffled by the mouth being wired shut. Twisting its head and stretching its jaws, it strained to open its mouth until the skin began to tear around the wires. Finally, the mouth sprung open in a jagged, gaping yaw, leaving chunks of jaw and dislodged teeth clinging to the wires. It took a deep breath and let out an agonized howl.

Raising its arms, the thing that was once Fletcher clawed at its collarbone, gouging out dead flesh and muscles. Instead of blood, pink fluid flowed from its veins and arteries. It eventually found the arterial tube and ripped it out. The tube clattered to the floor, still spewing embalming fluid. The vampire fell back onto the table, writhing in agony and ripping away its flesh to release the fluid still in its system.

Michelle staggered backward, tripping over a box and falling onto her back. She kept crawling away until she slammed into the wall. Bob stood frozen in a pool of his own urine. Only Rodriguez snapped out of the original shock.

“Shut that thing off!” he ordered, shoving Bob toward the embalming machine.

As the mortician fumbled with the controls, eventually shutting down the flow of fluid, Rodriguez looked around for something to put the vampire out if its agony. He spotted an axe in a glass-enclosed firefighting station on the far wall. Racing over and smashing the glass with his elbow, Rodriguez grabbed the axe and ran back to the table. Raising the weapon above his head, he aimed for the neck. Because of the vampire’s writhing, the blade crashed into its mouth, practically severing the lower jaw. The blow splattered Rodriguez with chunks of skin and fragmented teeth. Rodriguez tried to yank the imbedded axe free, twisting it several times. He nearly puked at the squishing noise the blade made against the muscles. When the axe finally came loose, the jawbone fell away, giving Rodriguez a clear shot at the neck. He raised the axe a second time, took careful aim, and brought it down hard, severing the head with a single blow. A look of relief washed over the vampire’s mangled features as its head dropped to the floor.

Embalming fluid sprayed from the neck, covering the table and floor. The body stiffened one final time before beginning its disintegration. The skin darkened and peeled off like embers from a burning log, revealing muscles and organs that crumbled into ash. Once exposed to air, the body fell apart from the heart outward, consuming itself more rapidly with each second. The left shoulder caved in on itself, freeing the drain tube which fell onto the table and rolled off onto the floor. Its head crumbled last, the remnants mixing with the spilled embalming fluid. Within thirty seconds, nothing remained of Fletcher but ash and a nightmarish memory.

Rodriguez stepped over to Michelle, who huddled against the wall in a fetal position, her head pressed tightly against her knees. She flinched when he touched her. Rodriguez crouched down and offered his hand again.

“It’s all right. It’s over.”

Tentatively, Michelle took the hand and struggled to her feet. She leaned back against the wall and sobbed. Rodriguez wrapped his arms around her and hugged, trying to provide some solace.

“W-what the hell just happened here?” asked Bob, still in shock.

“There’s a new narcotic on the street that has strange effects on its users,” Rodriguez lied. “It must have reacted with some of the chemicals in the embalming fluid.”

“A drug that brings the dead back to life?”

Rodriguez ignored the question.

Bob moved closer to the table and examined the carnage. “What the hell am I supposed to tell the family?”

“Tell them what I just told you.”

“Yeah.” Bob struggled with the story, slowly accepting it. “Do you think they’ll believe it?”

“Of course they will.”

Rodriguez did not know, or really care, if the Fletcher family believed a story so fucking outlandish. He only hoped Roach and Preston would.

*     *     *

Angela strolled down
the sidewalk, her stiletto heels clicking against the pavement. Despite the chilly night air, she wore a leather mini-skirt and a red silk tank top. An outfit, she could boast with pride, that nicely accentuated her long legs and naturally large breasts, and which complimented her neck-length auburn hair. Not that it did much good. Business had been slow these past few weeks, so she wore the whorish attire to attract a john. Since she was not about to lower her fee, she needed to dress more seductively than usual to give them a bigger bang for their buck, no pun intended. The look, unfortunately, had not drummed up any business, and all she had to show for her efforts were blisters and a set of nipples rigid from the cold.

She turned left off of H Street, walked a few blocks, and turned left again, heading back toward Union Station and the surrounding hotels. With luck, she would find a lonely businessman or horny tourist looking for some companionship. Angela had walked a block when she saw a handsome man approaching from the opposite direction, of average build and height, with a goatee and black hair down to his shoulders. She liked what she saw. The way he bore himself suggested someone extremely confident, and his clothes hinted of money, much better than her usual johns. Hell, she might have done him for free if she was not already behind on her rent.

As they drew close, Angela maneuvered into his path. “Are you looking for a good time?”

The potential john looked her over, definitely pleased with what he saw. The sideways glance up and down the street, though, told her the rest of the story. Most of the men she knew frequented working girls, but were embarrassed to be seen with them. Hypocritical, but typical. And something that could easily be dealt with.

Moving closer, Angela placed a hand on his chest, circling her fingers against the shirt. She spoke in a sultry voice not much louder than a whisper. “I know a place not far from here where we can be alone. It’s not the Waldorf, but it’s private enough that we can party for a while without being disturbed.”

“Really?”

The sudden interest confirmed to Angela she had closed the deal. Wrapping her arms around the john’s left arm, she maneuvered him back down the street in the direction of Union Station. “My name’s Angela. What’s yours?”

“Santos.”

The two walked for a few blocks, and then turned down an alley that ran between a pair of old buildings converted into office space for small businesses. They stopped one hundred feet in by an old iron door built into the side of the brick wall and hidden from the street by a dumpster. Most of the paint had long since peeled off the door, and rust had formed on the exposed metal. It might have been mistaken for an abandoned entrance except for the shiny deadbolt. Angela looked around to make certain no one saw them, produced a key from the pocket of her skirt, and quickly unlocked the deadbolt.

“What is this place?”

“You’ll see.” Angela tugged on the handle, and the door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. Reaching in, she flicked on a light switch and stepped inside. “Come on, lover.”

Santos obeyed. The two stood on a metal landing to a circular flight of wrought-iron stairs that descended underground. Angela closed and bolted the door behind them. Walking carefully on her toes so as not to get her heels stuck in the stairs, she led the way down. They soon came to a cement landing and another metal door, this one in much better condition and without a lock. Angela opened the door, reached in to switch on another light, and beckoned for Santos to follow.

The room was ten feet wide by fifteen feet long. Another door and a large rectangular window dominated the opposite wall. Nothing could be seen through the window, everything on the other side being pitch dark. Beneath the window and running its length stood an old floor-mounted console with gaping holes where the electronics used to be. An old but reasonably clean mattress sat against the wall to their right.

Angela leaned back against the console, her legs spread invitingly. “Whaddaya think?”

“Nice.” Santos stepped beside her and stared out the window into the void. “Where are we?”

“It’s part of an old train storage line for the Metro. They stopped using it decades ago because it was too close to Union Station and had become congested. Since then, they’ve forgotten about it. A friend of mine who used to work for the Metro gave me the keys. We’d come here once a month. I’d give him a freebie, he’d give me a Metro pass.” Since the idle chatter chewed into her work time, Angela got down to business. “The price is a hundred dollars. For that, you get whatever you want.”

Santos handed her five twenty-dollar bills, which she folded and slid into her skirt pocket. Angela unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off, draping the garment over the console. She started to unzip her skirt, but Santos placed his hand on hers.

“Keep them on.”

“Whatever you want, lover.” She placed the toe of her shoes against his leg, running it up and down. “How do you want it?”

“Turn around.”

Angela obeyed and bent over the console, her legs spread wide. With her left hand, she hefted the leather mini-skirt, exposing her ass. She felt Santos move closer and heard him unzip his pants. His cock head nudged her anus. Then, with a slow thrust, he entered her.

Angela gasped. She had taken it up the ass many times, but rarely with a cock this big. And cold. Usually her johns were so horny their dicks practically burned her. But a cock was a cock. At least this guy had good staying power. Most of her johns shot their wads quickly. Not this guy. He humped her ass with deep, steady strokes. She almost enjoyed this. She could tell by his increasingly heavy breathing that he did, too.

Suddenly, Santos grabbed Angela by the back of the neck and squeezed. The steady rhythm of their sex gave way to aggressive fucking. He began slamming into her as deep and as hard as he could. This went way beyond rough sex.

“Hey, you’re hurting me!”

Santos increased the ferocity of his fucking.

“All right, asshole. Get the fuck off—”

Santos clutched Angela’s hair in his right hand and slammed her face into the console. She felt her nose shatter. The pain from the broken nose and the blow momentarily stunned her. She was only vaguely aware of her attacker grunting like an animal, and raping her so viciously she knew she would have to go to the emergency room afterwards. Tricks had gone bad before, and she had learned to go along with it rather than fight back, and hopefully live through the ordeal. Opening her mouth to breath, she spit a wad of bloody mucus onto the counter.

When Angela looked up into the darkened window, the reflection made her blood run cold. She expected to see her attacker mounted on her, fucking away like a maniac. Instead, she saw a monster. The goatee and long hair had become matted over a pallid face and deeply-furrowed forehead. It panted its lust through an enlarged mouth with animal-like teeth and canines two inches long and razor sharp. When it lowered its head, blood-red eyes gleamed back at her in the reflection. The thing grinned at her and growled.

Angela screamed, even though she knew no one would hear her all the way down here. Half-way through the cry, the thing wrapped its hand over her mouth, talon-like fingernails digging into her cheek. It yanked her head back, wedging her against its chest. She watched in the reflection as the thing’s mouth opened wide. With an animalistic howl, it dropped its head, plunged the fangs into her neck, and sucked.
This is fucking insane
, she thought,
it’s drinking my blood
. Angela tried to struggle loose, but the thing gripped her too tight. It grunted and made one final deep thrust, releasing itself inside of Angela as the life passed from her.