Out of the Night (10 page)

"Are you all right?" Mac asked, standing beside her.

"I… I think so." She searched the branches for a sign of Burton, but saw nothing but the black of night. "Where did he go?"

She looked around for her father, but found that he, too, had disappeared. A feeling of despair settled over her until she remembered the softly whispered words.
I love you
. She fought to swallow the lump in her throat as she hurried to Davis.

Placing the flat of her fingertips to the side of his throat, she felt for a pulse and found none—not that she'd expected to. She closed the lids of the young man's eyes and rested her hand briefly against his cheek. She hadn't known him well, but no one deserved to die like that.

Killing Davis had proved to be an effective distraction, Mac thought ruefully. It had given Burton and the professor their chance to escape—and not just the two men; the creature was gone as well. Mac had recognized it immediately as the one that had attacked him; though why it was docile tonight, standing beside the professor, was a mystery.

It seemed strange that Burton would risk coming back for it, which meant he wanted it for some reason. That thought bothered Mac, a lot.

The sound of shouting voices and running feet brought him out of his reverie.

"Go inside." Mac grabbed Lanie by the arm and pushed her toward the building, his eyes searching the darkness above them. "Tell Dirk what happened. Have them take Davis's body and put it with the others."

"What about you? You can't stay out here by yourself. Burton could be anywhere, waiting to attack when your back is turned."

Mac shook his head. "No, he's gone."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I heard them moving through the forest."

A strange look flitted across her face, but all she asked was, "What are you planning to do?"

"Go after them."

Mac moved through the jungle, vaguely aware that he was making exceptionally good time. He'd never run this quickly before, not even when his leg had been healthy. He hurtled through the dense undergrowth as if he were running across short grass, grateful that the moon always seemed to be lighting his path, no matter where he went, letting him see everything clearly.

Every thought focused on finding Burton. He'd been certain that he'd hit Burton when he'd fired his gun. In his mind, he saw the replay of Burton's shoulder jerking back with the impact. Yet there was no trail of blood anywhere. Even seeing as well as he could, Mac hadn't found a single trace, but he wasn't worried yet. He knew they'd been this way. While Burton might have been trained to leave no trail, Dr. Weber had not.

What further amazed Mac were the three-clawed animal prints that he found in the dirt following alongside Dr. Weber's path of crushed plant life. The creature that had virtually made mincemeat out of him seemed to be almost domestic in the presence of Dr. Weber and Burton. Why was that?

Hours later, Mac returned to the research facility empty-handed. He found Lanie waiting for him inside and when she saw him, she hurried forward, searching him with her eyes for signs of possible injury.

"Are you okay?" Her hands strayed to touch his chest and his arms. He wasn't sure she was aware of what she was doing, and her concern warmed him for no reason he could understand.

"I'm fine."

He noticed that she was alone in the foyer. "Where's Dirk? And why isn't someone sitting up here with you?"

"They're all out searching for Burton. Did you find him? Or my father?"

"No, I lost them in the jungle."

"Well, it was dark," she offered comfortingly. "Do you think they'll come back?"

"I doubt it. Burton knows we're waiting for him. Besides, I think they got what they were after."

She nodded gravely. "The adult chupacabra."

He nodded. "But damned if I know why Burton wanted it." They had been walking toward the lab. Now Lanie grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him to a stop beside her. He could tell by the look on her face that she was lost in the pursuit of her thoughts. She didn't look at him as she turned, still holding on to his sleeve, and headed for the residence hallway.

"Where are we going?"

"My father's room—we need to talk."

He stopped walking and refused to move. "Look, I know it was a shock to think your father was dead and then suddenly discover that he's alive and working for a mercenary." He tried to gentle his tone. "I'm sorry that you had to find out the way you did, but I don't have time to
talk
about it right now. They're getting away. If we act quickly, we can head them off."

"It's a big jungle. Do you know where they're going?"

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "No," he admitted.

"Then it won't hurt you to take a few minutes to listen to me. Please, Mac. This is important." When he looked unconvinced, she tried again. "I don't think our problems here are over, and if there's any way to save a few more lives before it's too late, I think we should try. Especially since it might be our lives we'll be saving."

He saw the desperation in her eyes and wondered why he even considered listening to her when he knew damn well what needed to be done. It was the added "please" that did him in.

He let her pull him down the residence hall, to the third door on the right. The room was small and cozy, almost suffocating to Mac, who noticed that the only available seating for two was the bed, looming suggestively larger than life compared to the lone reading chair in the corner and the even smaller desk chair. He decided to remain standing.

"Okay, I'm listening."

Now that she had his attention, she seemed at a loss as to how to proceed. Walking over to the desk, she picked up a small leather journal and offered it to him. "This is my father's journal. I think you should read it; maybe it will help you understand what we're up against."

Mac, who'd started to take the book from her, now offered it back with a rueful expression on his face. "I've had ten years of highly specialized training in both covert and overt military operations. I don't need some crypto-whatever the hell you call it and a librarian explaining anything to me."

"This is different, Mac. We're dealing with things most people don't even know exist. I'm talking about vampires."

He started shaking his head. The woman sounded like a broken record. "Enough already. I told you before, I don't believe that crap, and I certainly don't have time to listen to it."

He started to leave, but she ran to the door and blocked it with her body. "Didn't you see them? My father and Burton? Did they look normal to you? And the way Burton killed Davis? Do you think that was normal?"

"Being abnormal and being a vampire are two different things." He reached around her to grab the doorknob, trying to ignore the contact of their two bodies as she refused to move out of his way. He caught the faint scent of soap mixed with the lingering essence of some perfume and tried not to notice how she wet her lips when she finally realized the position of their bodies. Unfortunately for him, there was a part of his anatomy that was all too aware of these things, and he quickly took a step back to give himself space.

"I can prove vampires exist."

Mac stared down into her dark blue eyes and felt as if he were falling into a deep well. Then her words sank in, jerking him rudely back. She was a lunatic—a gorgeous, witty, alluring but certifiable nutcase. But not as crazy as he was, he thought a second later, when he found himself being led through the halls to the back of the building.

"They put the bodies in here," Lanie told him a few minutes later when they reached the research facility's storage room. Though she'd acted sure of herself up to this point, the minute they entered the room and turned on the lights, Lanie seemed to falter. He wasn't sure if she was aware of moving closer to him as she surveyed the room, wide-eyed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, amused, closing the door.

"Not really," she admitted.

Looking around, Mac saw that shelves filled with cleaning supplies and sundries lined one wall. An assortment of mops and brooms stood in a corner, along with several buckets. There was a door in the middle of the right-hand wall that led into another room.

"In there," she said, pointing to that door.

He crossed the room to it, Lanie at his heels.

"Okay," she said breathlessly. "The way I figure it, these men have been dead about forty-eight hours, which is the same amount of time that passed between the time of my father's and Burton's deaths and the night everyone was killed. So if anything is going to happen, it'll be tonight. I don't suppose you have a knife on you? Or better yet—a stake?"

About to ask if she expected the dead to come back to life, he kept his mouth shut. That was exactly what she expected to happen.

For a brief moment he gave her worries credence. How many crazy things had he already encountered on this trip? As absurd as it was, if there was even a remote possibility that she was right, Mac knew he didn't want to open that door and find himself grossly outnumbered by the living dead.

"I have this." He pulled out his gun, fully loaded. He'd taken the time to reload the clip at the Jeep when he'd returned from his search through the jungle. "The door opens in," he explained, "so I want you to stand off to the side." He pointed to a spot a short distance away from the door.

Lanie was shaking her head before he'd finished speaking. "You can't shoot them. Bullets don't affect them."

"You've been watching too much TV." He held his gun where she could see it. "This is a Colt .45 automatic. It's got enough stopping power to drop a man with a single shot."

"Yes, well. We're dealing with the undead, and despite what nonsense you think might be dished out on TV, the fact of the matter is that it's going to be hard to kill something that's already dead."

"What do you suggest?"

She looked sheepish. "Stake them through the heart? Or maybe cut off their heads?"

She said it like severing a head from its body was an easy thing, and he had to bite back the words he wanted to say.

"Just stand back, okay?"

She moved reluctantly off to the side. Taking a breath, he felt a familiar, deep calm descend upon him; the quiet before the storm. He put his hand on the knob and opened the door.

Nothing jumped out at him as the door eased open, but Mac did not relax until he'd seen every corner of the room and verified that there was nothing lurking in the shadows.

After five minutes, his caution started to take on an aura of the absurd, and Mac was glad none of the men were around to bear witness to his actions.

Seeing the ten black bags was depressing, but not frightening. It was obvious from their shape and form that they still contained the deceased. The tag affixed to each zipper, bearing the victim's identity, seemed to be the only reminder that they had once been living, breathing people.

"All clear," he announced.

Behind him, he heard Lanie come into the room. He went to stand beside her and watched her expression. Her silence was hard to interpret. He thought she was probably disappointed that her theory had been incorrect, but had she really wanted these dead men to jump up, suddenly transformed into rip-out-your-throat-and-drink-your-blood vampires?

He draped his free arm across her shoulders. "Come on." He gave her a quick hug. "Let's go. Knowing how fond you are of tequila, I put the bottle from the plane in my bag when we arrived. What say you and I go get a drink? I know I could use one."

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring but not condescending smile, more affected by the lost, confused look in her eyes than he wanted to be.

"I was so sure," he thought he heard her mumble. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Still standing on principle?" he asked. "Don't worry, it's after five. It's safe to toss back a few."

She looked at her watch. "It's not even eleven yet. According to the security film, my dad and Burton didn't appear until after midnight. We're probably early, that's all."

He couldn't believe his ears. "You want to stay here and wait?" She nodded. "On the off chance that one, or all, of these dead men will come back to life as a vampire?" Again, she nodded.

He sighed. "Lanie, if it means you'll get off my back about vampires, I'll sit in here all night with you." And he meant every word.

She smiled her gratitude, and he left her standing by the door to walk into the outer room where the brooms and mops stood. He selected five and proceeded to break each handle into two.

"What are you doing?" Lanie asked, watching him.

Mac brought the homemade stakes over to the body bags and knelt by the first one. "You might not want to watch this."

He unzipped the first bag, ignoring the sight and smell of the corpse inside, and stabbed it through the heart with one of the broom pieces.

"Stop!" Lanie cried, running over to him. "I thought you were going to wait until after midnight."

Mac glared at her and moved to the next bag. "We only need one body to rise to prove your theory. I sure as hell am not going to sit around and wait for ten bodies to rise and
then
try to stake them." He stabbed a stake through the heart of the second victim and moved on to the third. "It's not like this is hurting them, right? They're already dead."

Davis's was the next body he came to, and for the first time he hesitated. It was easier when he didn't know the victim. He gritted his teeth, staked the body, and moved on.

Finally, there was only one corpse left. Mac didn't touch the bag, but went to stand next to Lanie as he looked back over the other bodies. "I thought they were supposed to turn to dust."

Lanie glanced at them and shrugged. "I don't know—maybe they have to be really old vampires. Old enough that had they not been turned into vampires when they died, their bodies would have disintegrated."

"Maybe," he agreed. "What time is it?"

She glanced at her watch. "It's eleven-thirty."

"Great. Now we wait."

The minutes ticked by slowly and Mac, having given his word, remained standing, ready to stake the last vampire should it appear. By one in the morning, he was wondering just how long Lanie was willing to wait to prove her theory.