Blood and Bullets (17 page)
16
The highway stretched before us. Sunset was running away and we were chasing it to a place that was in Larson's head. I could feel the night like a pressure building. The sun barely crested the pine trees along the asphalt, peeking out like a child playing hide-and-seek. Larson's family was counting on us to beat that sunset. The vampires were out of commission as long as the smallest sliver of sun remained above the horizon.
So far, the directions had led to Interstate 75 northbound. Highway 75 is one of those huge stretches of road that you can travel from Detroit all the way to Miami. It cuts straight through the middle of Georgia and is a well-maintained piece of roadwork. After driving for about two hours, we were not far from the Tennessee border, in the no man's land of small towns and middle-of-nowhere's. The Comet was streaking up the road like its namesake, eating the miles in a rumble of engine and whine of tire tread.
My compass and traveling companion sat up against the seat belt. His head leaned like a golden retriever. He was paying attention to the directions Appollonia had put in his head. Sweat oiled his skin, and the veins in his temples stood out like wires under his skin. Traveling had activated the power Appollonia had sunk into his brain earlier. Since getting into the car the strain of those vampiric powers had shown more and more in Larson. Plus, he hadn't slept and really hadn't eaten, so they were doing a real number on his system.
We had researched Appollonia, but Kat had found very little information on her. She was old, very old, but not much other than that. No history or rumors about her, no picture either. So she was old and powerful. That was about all we knew. Oh yeah, we knew one more thing: She was scary as hell.
“Turn off here.”
I took the next exit. The Comet complained its annoyance at slowing down with a loud rumble of pipes. The end of the ramp came and I followed Larson's finger point. The road curved and swayed like a drunk uncle, asphalt ribboning between hills and dips.
“We're getting close. I can feel it.” His eyes turned back to me. He had some color back in his face, especially on the left side where my backhand earlier caused a bruise to blossom along his cheek. His left eye was swollen and red. I really hadn't meant to hit him that hard. Maybe it looked worse because of his pale skin. Yeah, that was it. At least he could still see out of both eyes.
I turned down the stereo. During the trip we had been listening to Son Seals's
Lettin' Go
album. Chicago blues, deep and true. It was Son's last studio album before his death. Recorded after he had survived being shot in the mouth by his wife and having his leg amputated because of diabetes complications, it was a powerful record. Every song vibrating with the power of Son's charisma in spite of his hardships. Larson wasn't very talkative once we hit the highway, so music it was. I could see in his eyes he had something to say now.
Lettin' Go
album. Chicago blues, deep and true. It was Son's last studio album before his death. Recorded after he had survived being shot in the mouth by his wife and having his leg amputated because of diabetes complications, it was a powerful record. Every song vibrating with the power of Son's charisma in spite of his hardships. Larson wasn't very talkative once we hit the highway, so music it was. I could see in his eyes he had something to say now.
“Do you really think your plan is going to work?” he asked. “It seems pretty unplanned to me.”
Truth was, the plan was not really a plan. It was a string of ideas that should work. But really, it was the best we could come up with considering how little information we had to go on.
“It'll work.” What other answer could I give? No, it will fail spectacularly and your family will die, but don't worry, when it fails we won't be far behind them? Besides, confidence will carry you when ability fails.
Sometimes anyway.
“Do you really think they will let you keep your weapons?”
I couldn't look at him, I was still flying down the road and it was getting curvier as we went. Darkness filled the area around the car, cut by the headlights. The sun was still up, but on the road we were in the shadow of the mountains. Out in the country there are no streetlights. I felt when we crossed the Tennessee line. Tennessee has no state taxes and their roadwork is not the priority it is in Georgia. The road changed from smooth and even into something more like an alligator's skin.
“I doubt they will let me hold on to the guns, but who knows about the rest. Vampires are strange. I don't know why, since they used to be humans, but their brains don't work like humans' do. If they are old enough, they won't even recognize the other stuff. Since we don't know what we are walking into, it won't hurt to try.”
Larson's fist slammed into the dash and he convulsed like a live wire had switched on in his brain. Spine bowed and teeth clenched, he growled. “Turn here!”
My eyes began searching the side he was pointing at. That's the only way I saw the turnoff. It yawned out in the midst of the grass that stood sentinel at the road's edgeâa dirt road, narrow and red that cut back into the weeds and woods. Hitting the brakes, my fingers pulled the chain steering wheel in a hard right. The Comet slid onto the road, the tires chewing the dirt like a pit bull on a bone. A tap on the gas to goose the engine pulled the car straight and onto the crooked road.
Red dust billowed up around the car, wafting across the headlights and powdering the windshield. Driving on a back country dirt road is an experience unto itself. The dirt is a reddish orange and made of clay. The red comes from a combination of Georgia's and Tennessee's high heat and heavy rainfall that leaches out most minerals in the soil, leaving behind high doses of iron oxide. It's really good for growing pine trees, some shitty crabgrass, and kudzu, but not much else. On a dirt road it does two things. Rainfall washes away the soil unevenly, making ruts and gulleys in the road. This makes driving down them quite the adventure. Especially if you are into bronco riding.
Blindfolded.
With your hands tied.
The second thing is the dust. Red clay turns into a powder when it's dry. This makes a huge dust cloud that can make it damn near impossible to see. You drive by feel for the most part. If the road is wet, you don't get the dust, but you exchange it for a mud that is as slick as oil.
I brought the Comet's speed down some so that I wouldn't damage anything on the bumpy road. The car is a good, solid hunk of American Detroit iron, but it wasn't invulnerable. I really didn't want to get where we were going and not be able to leave. As the dirt road went farther, the pine trees continued to thicken along its side, completely blocking the sun. I knew it was still up but couldn't see it at all. As the car straightened on the road, a peeling white sign loomed in the tall grass on the roadside: S
HADOW
W
OODS
M
OBILE
H
OME
V
ILLAGE
. T
RAILERS
FOR
R
ENT
. A smaller sign underneath swung like a hanged man from a single rusty nail: S
HADOW
W
OODS
B
APTIST
C
HURCH
.
HADOW
W
OODS
M
OBILE
H
OME
V
ILLAGE
. T
RAILERS
FOR
R
ENT
. A smaller sign underneath swung like a hanged man from a single rusty nail: S
HADOW
W
OODS
B
APTIST
C
HURCH
.
Larson slumped in his seat. If he hadn't been wearing his seat belt he would have fallen to the floor. The road spewed us out into a clearing where all the trees had been cut away. I put on the brakes and the cloud of red dust shot past the car. Hills rose in the clearing, bare of vegetation. It was a dead place. No trees. Not even kudzu, which could grow in hell. Trailers thirty years past their prime leaned and sagged, scattered on the hills like rice thrown at a wedding. The trailers were mostly single-wide. Their paint schemes were straight from the seventies and faded from decades of the southern sun.
Here and there were cousins of the Comet, abandoned and hopeless. Stripped of parts, what was left of the cars smashed by someone who just didn't care. Trash abounded, faded beer cans and cardboard boxes mostly. The road we were on was a ribbon cutting back and forth among the trailers. It was a big, dirt bowl of death. It was a trailer park from Hades.
His finger touching the window, Larson pointed to the crest of the tallest hill. The road crept over it. The voice he used was hushed. “There. Over that hill. That's where we are going.”
The sun couldn't be seen on the other side of that hill, but I felt it as it slipped below the horizon. It was like a door that was open had shut with a muffled push. In its wake something filled the trailer park. It wasn't life. No, what spilled into that place had nothing to do with life. Inside, my head was a buzzing of power. Buzzing like zombie flies over a bloated corpse.
One by one, the doors on the dilapidated trailers popped open. Stumbling out of them were vampires. Lots of damn vampires. Ten and twenty to a trailer. They poured out of every place you could have hidden a vampire from the sun. But they were off, way off. Not one of them looked at the Comet or the two humans inside of it, and none of them moved with the unnatural grace that all vampires seem to come stocked with. Each step fell heavy as if they were marching to a drumbeat we could not hear. Their arms hung limply at their sides as they moved almost in one mind and headed toward our destination over the hill. We watched as they formed a mass and marched out of sight in lockstep.
I had a very bad feeling about this.
17
The nose of the Comet topped over the crest of the hill. Just below it sat what used to be the Shadow Woods Baptist Church. It looked like most country churches in the South. Made of red brick with a sharply sloped roof, it sat forlorn and misused. The stained glass sides were all broken out and replaced with plywood to block the sun. The cross on the steeple had been taken and turned upside down. Cobwebs draped the church building and fluttered in the breeze.
Vampires cannot be on holy ground. Churches are consecrated buildings and vampires generally steer clear. Being in a church won't kill them, but it is so uncomfortable they will normally not even be on the property. This church had been desecrated, so it was fair game for them. It wasn't just the cross either; you could feel the desecration in your bones. A taint of evil was in the very air around it, almost shimmering in the twilight. This church had been used for blasphemous purposes. Evil had been done here with determination. I hoped that the stain of evil wasn't so powerful that it messed up what little plan we had. Either way, we had no choice, full steam ahead, and damn the torpedoes.
The vampires filed inside the building, shuffling up concrete steps to the double doors. We had waited and watched until the roads had cleared of them. They moved in unison, more like zombies with their hive mind than vampires. Lockstep, they entered the church, closing the door behind them.
Gravel crunched under the tires as I pulled in front of the church and turned the car so that the nose faced out away from the church. If we made it out of this, I wanted it easy to get the hell out of there. Turning to Larson, I tapped him on the shoulder. He was facing out the window, attention locked on the church. With the touch of my finger he jerked toward me, eyes wild in their sockets. I pointed to the glove compartment. He nodded and opened it to get the blessed cross I had put in there earlier.
He slipped it over his head and under his shirt. Instantly, his face relaxed. Not by much, but some. He didn't look as panicked now. Leaning into the Comet's upholstery, he closed his eyes.
“Remember, when we get in here, you listen to me. I have no idea what we are walking into, but if I tell you to do something, you listen to me and you do it. This part we are playing by ear.” He nodded, still keeping his eyes closed. This part was going to be hard. “Look, Larson, we don't know what we might find in here. If your family is gone, then we will make these bastards pay.”
His lids snapped open and the look in his eyes was harsh. He nodded once up and down. “I know” was all he said.
The warning was the best I could do for him until we got inside. Stepping out of the car and into the chill night air, I grabbed my coat and flung it around me, slipping my arms down the sleeves. It was heavy on my shoulders. Larson was still dressed in his T-shirt, but he also put on his coat. His spine was straight and the big trench coat didn't seem so silly now. Larson squared his shoulders and we walked up the short stairs without a backward glance.
Swinging the double doors of the church open, we entered a vestibule. It was dark, the interior lit by lanterns. Most vampires shun open flame. The most they will have around them are candles and sometimes a fire in a fireplace; but vampires are actually fairly combustible, so they like to keep fire pretty far away from themselves. Plus, they could see in the dark, so they really had no need for light. To the right, the vestibule ended in a stairwell that went up, I assumed to the steeple. To the left were stairs going down to either the basement or what used to be Sunday school rooms. This was only a guess based on a childhood of going to little country churches just like this one whenever we would visit my dad's Protestant relatives. Well, except for the desecration part.
Directly in front of us was another set of double doors for what would be the sanctuary. Light spilled from under the doors. The walls were bare of ornament except painted symbols of occultismâsigns, symbols, and sigils. I recognized some, others I didn't. Not that it mattered, it was just more blasphemous crap. Spiderwebs hung from every corner. Huge, thick spiderwebs that covered big areas. The spiderwebs were not surprising considering what met us at the sanctuary doors.
She stood almost as tall as I did. Slender as a razor, she was all arm and leg in a brilliant crimson dress. The line of her body was broken only by the swell of small breasts. Long black and gray hair flowed from her head and around her shoulders in a cascade. Her head was elongated and bulbous. Two large eyes glistened red, set in deep hollows. Above them were three more sets of matching eyes that progressively got smaller as they neared her hairline. Her nose was nonexistent, just a small bump with two pinholes for nostrils. Full red human lips that would make a hooker jealous surrounded a mouthful of tiny sharp teeth. Her entire body was covered in tiny, coarse gray hairs.
Were-spiders are freaking creepy.
One hand rose up, composed of reed-thin fingers that had five knuckles instead of three like a normal hand. Between each finger were tiny webs. Her voice was almost normal. A nice, silky alto. But her inhuman larynx gave it a metallic vibrato, making her sound almost like a machine.
“I have to search you for weapons. Don't fight me. Just stand with your arms out and be still.”
I spread my arms and nodded for Larson to follow suit. The Were-spider stepped between the two of us. Her hair moved and from her back unfolded two more sets of spider arms. They were long, spindly, and also covered in gray hair. Waving in the air, they began to descend toward us. Her human arms extended toward the ceiling and two large spiders slid down long ropes of silk and dropped onto her hands. Perching delicately, they stood on her palms.
Both were shiny black and had long legs and bulbous bodies. I was sure if you turned them over there would be a red hourglass mark on their bellies. Black widows are normally the size of a pea and had enough venom to make a man my size sick for days. These were as big as small kittens, and I was sure they came stock from the factory with enough venom to put down an elephant. I hoped I didn't know what she was planning to do with those two spiders. Her arms extended toward me and Larson, spiders twittering on her palms. No, surely not.
With a flurry of legs, both spiders launched off her palms. The one hit me in the chest like a baseball, hanging on to my shirt with its pointed legs. Grinding my teeth together, I managed to stay still as it crawled across my chest and under my coat. I could feel each of its legs as it moved pricking along my skin through my shirt.
Generally speaking, I don't mind spiders. In the garden they are great and even around the house, but a venomous spider the size of a kitten actually crawling on my body where I could not see had a very high freak factor. If it bit me, I would die, painfully and pointlessly. I would see to it that the spider died with me, but that was no consolation. Closing my eyes, I pushed breath through my nose to calm myself.
“Deacon ...” Hoarse and brittle, Larson's voice sounded like glass that was cracking under pressure. Shit. I am a badass monster killer and these spiders were making me edgy. Larson was a plain old human who was working on almost no sleep and the stress of his family's safety sitting on his shoulders. These things had to be pushing him into the red zone. Damn it. He couldn't freak out now; if he did, he was as good as dead.
“Be cool, man. Just relax. This will be over in a minute.” I tried to send calming thoughts to him.
The spider woman laughed. “Yes, be still. My pets will finish their job soon enough.” It should be true; I sincerely hoped it was. My spider had made a few trips around my chest, spiraling around my body and moving toward my legs. It paused at both guns and my cross under my shirt.
It was a relief when it made the transition to my lower body. I couldn't feel it walking through the leather pants and I was pretty sure the thick leather would stop its fangs from penetrating.
I also hoped they were thick enough to keep it from finding the knife tucked into my boot under the leg of the pants. The knife wasn't very big, only about nine inches long, but it had silver wire hammered into the blade. Nine inches is enough blade to hit a heart from under a ribcage. It would be better than nothing. The spider had not gone into my coat pockets, so if things went well, part of my plan was still in play. I began to talk to her to give Larson something to concentrate on besides the gigantic, deadly spider crawling around his body.
“So what's your name, darlin'? And what is a lady like yourself doing in a place like this?” I used a cordial, almost flirty tone. It couldn't hurt, and she was a Were, which means she was a human woman at least part of the time.
“My name is Charlotte.” Her full lips curled up into a smile. Those alien hands flourished out to the side, like a hostess on a game show. “Welcome to my web.”
Humor was not what I expected in the situation. I cocked one eyebrow up. “I must be some pig, then.”
She giggled. It was weird to say the least. Were-spiders are very alien looking to begin with. When they do things that remind you they are human, it just adds to the creepy. To see this creature with its odd-knuckled hand covering its thick red lips in a girlish manner was ... disturbing. The giggling itself was a good sign, though.
“So, why are you in with the bloodsuckers, Charlotte?”
Before she could open her mouth to answer I felt a push in the air. It ripped up from behind her and swirled around to brush into me. Her head jerked violently side to side, making black hair flail wildly around her shoulders. Her legs gave out and her body fell toward the floor like a sack of cement. The two sets of spider legs protruding from her back caught her before she hit the ground. They held her suspended in the air, the rest of her body curled in on herself. Convulsions caused her spider legs to sway side to side. I stood still against my first instinct to help her. The gigantic black widow still on my thigh made sure of that.
So, Appollonia was listening and didn't seem to want me to know Charlotte's answer. Dumbass vampire. Her action revealed two things: one, her familiar was spiders; and two, she, like most vampires, was forcing her familiar to act against their will. Charlotte did not want to help the vampire, she had no choice. It was good to know for the future. I hate killing the wrong people.
Charlotte was a victim. It meant I had a chance to free her of the vampire's influence instead of killing her outright. The Were-spider in question slowly unfurled from her position and stood on shaky legs. Tremors ran up and down her limbs, rippling the gray furred skin. Odd-knuckled fingers fluttered at her hair to put it in place as she composed herself.
Larson shuddered and gave a long exhale beside me. Looking over, I saw the spider had crawled off of my leg and was now climbing the lady's dress along with the one Larson had. Her face turned to me, red eyes glistening.
“You will have to remove your guns, both of them.” Her voice was clipped, back to being all business.
I knew it was coming, but I really hate giving up my guns. This whole scenario was creeping me out. Using both hands, I pulled out the guns. For just a moment I thought about pushing past Charlotte and storming into the sanctuary, guns ablazing. I didn't know what lay on the other side of those doors, but I was absolutely positive that I didn't want to go in there without my guns. But trying to get past Charlotte would probably mean I would have to kill her.
Dammit.
Turning the guns handle first, I handed them toward her. Two of the spider legs descended and the sticky pads on them grabbed the guns and took them away. Charlotte dipped her head in thanks.
“Now you have to take off your crosses.” Her head cocked to the side. “Please.”
The cross came out of my shirt. I pulled it over my head and held it out to Charlotte. I motioned that she should put it on. She took a horrified step back, waving her hands frantically back and forth. She turned to a table behind her and picked up a glass jar. The liquid inside was a slight amber color. Very carefully, she removed the lid of the jar, releasing a sharp, chemical smell. “You have to put your crosses in this solution.”
Well, shit.
Larson dropped his cross into the jar while I debated with myself. As much as I hated giving up my guns, I really, really didn't want to sacrifice the cross. It was my last line of defense. Larson's rosary quickly dissolved, swirling darkness into the liquid. Acid. To Charlotte's credit, she did not pressure me, just stood watching me with eight red eyes and a jar of acid in her hands.
A shrill scream from the other side of the sanctuary doors made my decision for me.
I dropped the cross and put my boot forward, stepping toward the doors without watching the crucifix pull apart like taffy as it dissolved. Now that I was disarmed, I was going in that damn room. Charlotte stepped aside before I could shove her out of the way. My hands closed on the handles to the double doors. They were cold and hard under my palms. Leaning my considerable weight back, I yanked on them with a sharp tug. The wooden doors parted toward me with no resistance and hit the walls on either side with a loud
BANG!
With that abrupt introduction, Larson and I entered the scene in the sanctuary.
BANG!
With that abrupt introduction, Larson and I entered the scene in the sanctuary.
It was almost too much to take in. The sanctuary was like most country churches. It was a big rectangle with a steeply pitched ceiling. Light filled the room from lanterns and hurricane candles hanging on the wall, and set on every surface. Pews in rows on each side of a center aisle were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with vampires. Damn, the room was filled to capacity with vampires. Probably around five or six hundred of the bloodsuckers. They did not turn to us, but instead stared straight ahead at the stage in front of them.
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