Eternal Samurai (34 page)

“Oh, and Arisada? There is a hunter up in the scaffolding. Bring me his head.” Sadomori smiled with a cold twist of lips at the shock distorting his Primary’s beautiful face.

Sadomori’s departure signaled the pack. Blood howls rent the air as vampires surged toward the humans. Panicked, the men bolted away from the safety of their van into the shadows of the tower.

Shit, now what? The sweep of wide-set headlights lit the far end of the street answered Tatsu. Heedless of the danger, Tatsu jumped up, waving the
katana
in the direction of the departing car. “Mercedes. Ukita Sadomori has the virus!”

Indecision tore through Passebon. He slammed on the brakes for a second, making the truck skid. “
Merde
. Cobb or the car?”

“The kid can handle himself,” Galloway growled. “Don’t lose that fucking car.”

Passebon laughed and jerked his chin toward the fleeing Mercedes “You insult me,
mon ami
. This one is a
cochon
, and we know pigs can’t drive.” Passebon skidded around the corner, caught a glimpse of the red tail light of the Mercedes a block ahead. He hit the gas. The massive truck ploughed between two derelict cars, smashing them aside like toys.

“This is easier than taking
grande-mère
on her Sunday drive to church.”

“Stop being a wiseass and drive.”

Passebon skidded the truck around another warehouse. The Mercedes was mere yards in front. “Call for back-up.”

Galloway reached for his cell. “Need it for the kid too. He may be Super Ninja, but the kid won’t be able to hold his own for long.”.

The second he saw the Hummer accelerate, Tatsu dashed back to his position. Not a moment too soon. Vampires circled the cowering men, toying with them, feasting off the palpable wash of terror now filling the air. In a panic, the thieves bolted away from their van directly beneath Tatsu’s hiding place. The pack surged after them.

In the middle of the fanged mob, Tatsu spotted a distinct head covered by a thatch of curly black curls. He vaulted over the railing, one hand reaching toward the massive chain hanging from the gantry ten feet above his head. His clawing fingers folded around the thick, steel links. Howling the war cry of the Kurosaki Clan, dropped beside Bana.

“Hey, partner,” Tatsu grinned.

Bana stared with surprise. The crimson glare in his eyes dissolved back into their hazel, human shade. “Boyo, what the fekking Christ you doin’ here?”

“Saving your ass,” Tatsu laughed at the familiar obscenity spitting from Bana’s fanged mouth. Out of habit, the two moved back-to-back. Guns and swords dealt death to all around them.

Arisada halted, stunned, at hearing the ancient war cry of the Kurosaki Clan. Dismay filled him at the sight of Tatsu dropping into the slavering mob. Oh, my
koibito,
you possess such foolhardy courage.

He whipped out his
nodachi
and waded into the melee with only one purpose—to save the boy. One after another he cut down his own kind as he fought his way toward his lover.

Tatsu caught a flash of that fire-colored hair. A moment of fear filled him. Would Arisada fight alongside his Clan? Then Tatsu caught the silver-bright arc of Arisada’s blade as it cleaved through one, then another of his kind. All doubt evaporated. Even if he died this night, he would be at Arisada’s side.

“Come on, partner. We can take ’em.” Tatsu turned to Bana. His mirthless grin dissolved in dismay at the distortion of Bana’s face. Nothing of humanity remained in that fanged visage.

The scent of blood obliterated the last of Bana’s rationale. He saw the red-haired vampire wielding a gore-covered sword. In a confused jumble, Bana recalled another night, another fight, when he’d tried to kill this same bloodsucker. With a scream of blind rage, he aimed his guns at Arisada’s head.

“Bana,
kudesai
!
Kudesai
! Stop!” But the din of the fight drowned Tatsu’s shout. In desperation, he slammed the back edge of his short blade across Bana’s wrists. Too slow. Too late.

Bana pulled both triggers. White-hot bursts of incendiaries stitched across the torsos of several vampires and punched into the wall of the nearest gas tank.

Night turned to day in a blinding instant. The second tank exploded, the third. Huge gouts of flame and black smoke boiled into the sky. Sheets of flesh-shredding metal spun like confetti over the site, raining death over everything. Then, with a mind-shattering roar, the entire plant blew up. The world disintegrated.

Searing pain ripped through Tatsu. He did not hear his own scream. The ground spun up to meet him and everything turned black.

Warehouses for a block around the plant shook, walls split roofs fell in. The road bucked like a rollercoaster beneath the speeding Humvee, jouncing it high into the air. Its wide wheels screamed for purchase.

“Earthquake!” Galloway yelled a second before a massive eruption tore the night apart. He spun around with a cry of utter horror.

The Cajun looked into the rearview mirror, eyes widening at the sun-bright ball boiling into the sky. “
Mon dieu, mon
fucking
dieu
!” He wrenched the steering wheel, fought the bucking truck. Tires screamed as the Hummer spun through a-hundred-eighty-degree turn. The rear clipped a wall. Sparks accompanied the shriek of metal as the bumper sheared off.

Galloway’s temple smashed against the passenger-side window. His grunt of pain turned into several “fucks” at the sight of flames and roiling black smoke billowing hundreds of feet into the air.

With no regard for his partner’s bleeding head, Passebon careened insanely though streets filled with blinding smoke.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. No, no, no, not the kid,” Galloway leaped from the Hummer even before it came to a full stop half a block from the raging inferno. The two Lepers staggered, driven nearly to their knees by the heat. Thick oily smoke choked their lungs, tore away their breath. The roar from the conflagration deafened them.

Angry flames lashed over acres of twisted metal and mountains of shattered concrete. Only the lower part of the central tower remained standing. The roofs of every tank had blown off and lay like bizarre, giant bowls. Both men ducked as loaders exploded, flipping high in the air like chaff to crash upside down, their smoldering tires spinning.

Bodies, scorched beyond recognition, lay scattered about. The smell of burnt meat engulfed the two horrified men, the stench made hideous by the knowledge that it was human flesh.

Galloway screamed Tatsu’s name as he dashed dangerously close to the inferno. The blond Leper, tears streaming down his face, staggered back to the Hummer. He could barely hold his cell in his shaking hand as he stabbed in the emergency number for the Colony. An eternity passed, or maybe a millisecond, before hearing Cooperhayes’ calm, blessed voice.

“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Harbor Island power plant. Explosion,” Galloway’s cry tore into the tiny speaker. “The kid! Oh God, the kid, he’s.…” His voice ended in a strangled cry as he doubled over, grief wracking his body.

“Copy that. I shall inform the Major. Back-up ETA, twenty minutes.” Cooperhayes’ voice shook with emotion.

Anger shredded Passebon’s senses as he scanned for any sign of the kid. “
Merde
! No one could have survived that!” He caught his partner around the shoulders. Held the distraught man against his broad chest. Murmured in French. Said everything and anything to stop Galloway from running into the inferno.

Over that blond head, Passebon spotted a shard of steel glittering on the ground near the gate. He released Galloway and, with a shaking hand, picked it up. Stared in shock at the lower half of Tatsu’s
katana
. Light from the fire danced along the shattered blade.

“
Mon Dieu.
It’s the kid’s.” His deep voice grated with anguish. Then he let his tears fall.

.

Nineteen

T
he sole survivor of the explosion writhed in agony, his face twisted into a hideous rictus. Blood and body fluids soiled the rich Persian carpet. Most of the creature’s clothes were burned off, the flesh beneath rendered to blackened meat. His wounds so severe, even his unnatural healing ability could not save him. “I saw Saito-san … slaying our kind—”

“Did you see a boy with him?” Sadomori interrupted in suppressed rage.

“
Hai, hai
. Bishounen … jade eyes, brown hair. Fighting … two swords … style of
niten’ichi.
” The vampire’s scorched lungs labored but found no air.

Sadomori’s gorge rose as he realized his Primary had lied to him. Arisada had disobeyed him, not killed that boy. The Daimyō knelt and stroked the matted hair away from the suppurating face. “Tell me, did you see Saito-san after the explosion?” The fury in his voice gave lie to his gentle caress. The mutilated vampire opened his mouth to reply but only gasped out a foul breath.

The door burst open and Nakamura Omi rushed into the room. He blurted out his news without waiting for permission to speak. “Daimyō, I believe Saito-san survived. When we arrived at the plant, his car was gone. A large group of hunters was already there.”

“Why didn’t you kill the filthy swine?” Sadomori glared up at his cowering underling through death-filled eyes. Blood-flecked spittle sprayed the air where his fangs sliced his lips.

The terrified
kyūketsuki
dropped to his knees, pressed his forehead to the floor. “
Gomen nasai
. I feared a fight with them would delay me. I deemed it was critical to tell you of your Primary’s actions.”

“I see the fear in your eyes, fear of mere humans. Your cowardice will not go unpunished. But for now, I have more pressing matters.” Without looking down, Sadomori drove his
tanto
into the burned vampire’s eye. The creature’s body convulsed once, his chest collapsed with an obscene rattle.

Sadomori wiped the blade on the corpse’s clothing. “Nakamura, get off your knees. Remove this offal. Pack up what we need. We’re moving,” he ordered as he stood. His body vibrated with rage as he walked over to the picture window, stared at the smattering of lights surrounding the distant silhouette of the Space Needle.

He caught the group of anxious
kyūketsuki
in a ferocious glare. Every vampire backed away, bowing. Sadomori smiled, the expression made grotesque by his fangs.

“Destroy these hunters. But bring the traitor and that boy to the Needle. Do not harm them. The pleasure of their deaths will be mine alone. Do you understand?” His voice was the more deadly for its sudden calm.

As one, the
kyūketsuki
exited the chamber. One growled long and low as the killing blood rose in his veins. Several echoed him.

Sadomori stared again at the tall spire above the night-shadowed skyline. Soon he would rule this miserable city just as he ruled countless others in the past. He savored that thought of triumph. And the killing that was about to come.

He was right to trust no one, not even his Primary, the one who swore to serve him until death. A thousand years ago Sadomori Ukita was betrayed and now again. Betrayed, always betrayed.

Satsuma Province, Nipon, Winter 798

The old woman shrieked as the apparition loomed out of the swirling snow. Her foot skidded in the frozen mud, and she dropped her straw basket of wood. Fagots scattered everywhere. Almost on top of her, a horse crashed to the ground. Its cracked hooves scrabbled against the frozen ground leaving long gouges. With a groan, the beast’s final breath escaped its lungs in a wheeze as its gaunt ribs slowly collapsed. Steaming red-flecked foam dribbled from its stilled nostrils and turned instantly to pink ice.

The crone backed away from the beast, tripped and landed on her bottom. Her screeches of “
Oni, oni
, save me from the demon” reverberated through the small mountain village. The echoing shrieks drew the brave and foolhardy alike. Shivering in their thin cloaks, several men tiptoed closer to the fallen beast.

“Fools, stop your hysterical chatter. This is not the
oni
,” Jurou, the village elder, hobbled through the crowd, shoving the gawkers aside with his staff. He knelt beside the brown, shaggy horse, and saw the rider pinned partially beneath the animal’s gaunt flank.

“It is a samurai!” Jurou gasped with dismay. His trembling fingers pointed to the colors of the man’s once-splendid
yoroi-hitarre
so tattered it no longer concealed the armor beneath. Jurou picked up the horned helmet from the snow, wiped off some of the slush and held it up to the crowd. “See, this crest? It is Emperor Kurosaki’s mons.

“It cannot be,” a doubting voice cried from within the crowd.

Jurou stood as fast as his arthritic, old body allowed. “Dare you question me? As a youth, I saw this crest carried by his army as it marched out of Nara.” All nodded their acceptance of this statement. Only Jurou had ever been out of the village.

“Only a real samurai could have endured crossing the winter sea and been strong enough to climb our mountains,” a villager said, voice tinged with awe.

The head miner stepped beside Jurou and looked down at the fallen man. “But we sent our petition to the Shogun at the beginning of spring before planting began. Why send someone now after the first winter snow?”

For the past year, an
oni,
an evil monster, had been brutally killing villagers during the night. Week after week, screams of horror had rent the chill morning air at the discovery of another body drained of its blood. So far, ten from the tiny community had perished.

“It is not for us to question the wisdom of the Shogun. He does things in his time. But knows the iron we supply is the purest. He shows he values us by sending this man,” Jurou said.

The old woman pushed herself to her feet. “Well, there won’t be any value if this man is dead,” she snapped, reclaiming her dignity through her sharp tongue.

Jurou leaned over the inert body and placed his ear against the warrior’s mouth. “He is alive. I feel his breath.”

“We are saved,” a young woman cried with joy. Smiles spread over the faces of the villagers at her announcement. They all bowed toward the unconscious man.