Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold (20 page)

“Sam?” Mosley shouted.

It was magic that hit me, not a vampire.

“Get back in the house!” I tried to say, but a wave of arctic cold descended on me. My face went numb and my breath froze to my lips. “There’s a witch,” I croaked.

Mosley was staring at me with concern. “Sam? What’s happening?”

I was on my hands and knees. The sharp edges of the gravel slashed at my palms and knees. “Witch,” I mumbled. “There’s a
witch!
”

Mosley’s crucifix blazed to life, a pure white light imbued with God’s power. It lit Mosley’s face, making his eyes dark and hollow, then the vampire was on him, slashing through Mosley’s brown wool coat and sending blood splattering across the gravel.

It all happened incredibly fast. The vampire was an overweight man with deep sunken eyes and chubby jowls. He turned to me and there was a moment of recognition in his eyes.

I gasped. The milksop of a man in the red tracksuit was Milford Barlow, a vampire from Indianapolis that I had last seen holding his dying wife’s hand.

“Milford?” I croaked.

Mosley had fallen to the gravel and was scrabbling to get away. Barlow frowned and grabbed the young priest, lifting him as easily as I would a rag doll, and tore the young priest’s head from his body.

There was a fountain of blood as the priest’s heart spasmed its last beats, then Barlow casually tossed Mosley’s head to one side and his body to the other.

“No,” I moaned. “Oh, no.”

The vampire spun on his heel and his lips moved wordlessly, then his jaw slammed shut and his lower lip quivered. His gaze lingered on me, then he was moving faster than my eye could follow, through the door and into the farmhouse’s kitchen.

I struggled to stand. The cold intensified around me, plunging from merely frigid to subzero. Crackling came from my face and it felt like someone was gouging my eyes with needles. My vision went blurry and I rubbed at them, desperately trying to wipe away the thick frosting of ice suddenly covering my face.

I had to do something or I was going to freeze to death.

The Kimber was still in my hand, and I used the last of my energy to flip myself over on the loose gravel. I landed awkwardly and there was a cracking sound from my ribs, like sticks breaking, and I gasped.

There was a tall man standing in the tall grass next to the field, waving his hands and chanting.

The man was thin, with a sharp widow’s peak, and wore a long black trench coat similar to my own. He saw me and his eyes widened in surprise, then my Kimber barked and the man looked shocked as the bullet tore through his chest and dropped him to the cold earth.

The cold dissipated and I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in my side. I crawled across the gravel to Mosley’s body. The blood had stopped its furious pumping and oozed from the neck. It appeared black in the darkness, and long flaps of flesh and muscle and ligaments trailed from the stump.

Mosley’s head lay sideways on the gravel four feet away, his sightless eyes wide in shock and his mouth open in a terrible scream.

The eyes were what did it for me. It was always the eyes. Mosley’s brown eyes were once so full of life, but now they looked so empty, reduced to jelly-filled orbs that no longer served any purpose.

I retched, but only green bile came up. I spat on the gravel, trying to clear my throat.

This isn’t getting the job done.

I stood on rubbery legs and spun, searching for more intruders. The light above the kitchen door spilled its pool of light onto the driveway, but the darkness beyond was empty. The buzzing against the back of my skull was gone, but the vampire was still nearby, a fact readily apparent by the screams coming from inside the Kormans’ house.

Callie!

I stumbled forward, yanked open the kitchen door, and entered the house. The kitchen was empty except for Randy, who sat on the floor, leaning against the living room doorjamb and facing away from me. “Randy?” I called out softly. “Randy!”

The old farmer didn’t move. The screams coming from the living room were louder and more anguished.

“Randy?” I said, crossing the kitchen and putting my hand on the man’s shoulder.

Randy slumped back, his head striking the white rug in front of the stove with a dull thump, and I saw why the old farmer wasn’t responding.

Barlow had torn Randy’s throat from his body, leaving a gaping chasm where the esophagus and larynx should be, and the smell of the old farmer’s urine was bitter in the air.

There was no need in checking the old man for a pulse. There wouldn’t be one. One of the screaming voices from within the living room choked out a garbled sob and then fell quiet.

Damn it.

I stepped over Randy’s body and entered the living room. It was like a slaughterhouse. Bloody streaks stained the walls, garish splashes of scarlet that stood out vividly against the white paisley wallpaper.

Barlow held Jodie Rexford by her throat, and Gene Rexford lay at Barlow’s feet. Gene was covered in blood and moaning in pain.

Janice Korman sat on the brown carpet nearest the door, her right hand delicately holding in her intestines which were threatening to spill out between her fingers. She looked confused when she glanced up, and I realized she was in shock.

Rachel Warren was hunched over her husband with her arms spread out protectively, trying to shield him from danger. It was a useless gesture, as her husband was most likely dead. If he weren’t, he’d be the first person to live with their heart ripped from their chest. Rachel wailed like a banshee, a high-pitched keening that contained more agony and despair than I’d thought possible.

Callie huddled on the floor, her arm wrapped protectively around Molly Gary, and Callie’s crucifix glowed like a mini-supernova.

“Where is she?” Barlow demanded in his reedy voice. “
Tell
me.
Where is she
?”

I trained the
Kimber on the doughy little man. “For Christ’s sake, Milford. Stop it!”

Barlow spun around before I could pull the trigger, putting Jodie in the line of fire. “I must find Dawn McKie. I won’t stop until I do.”

“Milford!” I screamed. “It’s me!”

The vampire growled. “I know, Sam. I
know
. I must find this Dawn woman. Where is she?”

What could Barlow possibly want with Dawn McKie? The last time I’d seen him, he had been with his wife, Eva. “Tell me what’s going on, Milford. I can help.”

The vampire uttered a string of curses, then said loudly, “I
must
find Dawn McKie. Do not delay my quest.”

Quest?

Barlow wasn’t acting like himself. Unlike most vampires, Barlow had mastered his hunger relatively quickly, living a quiet life in Indianapolis and only feeding on his wife, who willingly provided her blood. “This isn’t like you.”

“I must find Dawn McKie,” Barlow repeated, his eyes darting around the room.

“Okay,” I said slowly. There was a bay window along the west wall of the living room, and I squinted. I didn’t see anyone in the darkness, controlling Barlow from afar, but it was the only explanation. “She’s not here,” I said, trying to buy some time. “I don’t know where she is.”

Barlow shook Jodie hard enough to make the woman gurgle in pain. “Do not oppose me and no one else will die. Bring Dawn McKie to me or I shall lay waste to the rest of these humans.” A flash of anguish crossed Barlow’s face and then it was gone.

“I
really
don’t know where she is,” I said. “I’m not lying—”

“Silence,” Barlow hissed, his chubby cheeks quivering. “You
will
find her. I
must
have her.”

The glow from Callie’s crucifix grew brighter, bathing the room in a light so bright that it was almost a living thing.

Barlow still held Jodie, but his arm drooped, allowing Jodie’s heels to touch the ground. A light steam arose from Barlow’s arms and oozing blisters erupted on his skin where the light touched.

“It’s going to take some time,” I said. “Give me a few hours.”

“You’ll bring her to me within the hour,” Barlow said, his face contorted in a strange mix of emotions. “Bring me the girl and you shall live.”

There was the sound of movement behind me and another light joined Callie’s. “Leave this place, you foul thing,” Father Jameson shouted, emerging from the kitchen.

I turned and saw Jameson, his crucifix held high, his free hand dragging Dawn McKie behind him. Dawn’s face was as white as a sheet and her eyes wide with disbelief.

Barlow screamed in frustration.

I spun back to face him, but Barlow latched onto Callie and jumped through the bay window, smashing through the glass and into the darkness beyond. Callie’s crucifix cast a furious white light across the brown grass, all the way to the edge of the empty field to the west.

“Damn it!” I shouted, then jumped clumsily through the window.

It was too late. Barlow slowed and Callie’s crucifix fell dark. I tried to follow his movement, but he was too fast, moving faster than I could run.

I considered emptying the Kimber into Barlow’s back, but while I might hit the little man, there was a good chance the bullets would pass through the vampire’s skin like papier-mâché and strike Callie.

“Damn it. Damn it!”

Barlow disappeared into the night, taking Callie with him.

* * *

“I’m going after her,” I said to Jameson.

Jameson stood in the living room with a stern expression on his face, his crucifix still dangling between the lapels of his tan jacket. “You can’t leave,” Jameson said.

I felt my anger rising. “The hell I can’t.”

“You don’t know where that monster took her,” Jameson pointed out.

I sighed. The dead and dying filled the living room, but I wasn’t in the mood to comfort them. “I need my stuff.”

“Look around you,” Jameson pleaded. “These people
need
your help.”

“
These
people,” I said, “have caused nothing but trouble and kept me from doing my job.”

Jodie Rexford was kneeling over Janice Korman. As I spoke, she stood and glared at me, her hands sticky with blood. “Look what Carlton did to us.
He
sent that vampire.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” I said. “I don’t know what’s been going on around here, and I don’t care anymore. You’ve stood in my way. You’ve told me half-truths. You’ve conspired to send me after your enemy. You’re a deceitful little witch.” I snorted, unable to stop myself. “
Literally
.”

I stepped over Randy’s dead body as I made my way to the kitchen. Randy’s empty eyes stared up at the ceiling, but I could swear there was an accusation in them.

Not my problem.

Jameson caught up to me as I opened the kitchen’s storm door. “Sam, please. You don’t even know where you’re going.”

“Anything is better than standing here doing nothing.”

“Damn it, Sam!”

Perhaps it was the desperate tone in his voice, or perhaps it was the curse, but I turned to the priest. “Look, Patrick.” I grabbed Jameson’s arm and dragged him outside to the driveway. “Look at your friend,” I said, pointing to Mosley’s body. “He’s dead because of them. He didn’t deserve this. You know what? I don’t even blame the vampire. I blame
them
.”

Jameson’s eyes settled on Mosley, and there was a depth of grief in them that I couldn’t begin to understand. “I know, son. I
know
. You want to lash out. Sometimes you have to put other people first.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” I said. “I’m putting
Callie
first.”

“Do you think she wants that?” Jameson asked softly. “Do you
really
think she wants you to neglect these people?”

I started to speak, but Jameson continued, “Callie would want you to help them. Deep in your heart, you know it’s the Christian thing to do.”

“You think Callie wants to be held by a vampire?” I countered. “You think she wants it feeding on her? Or giving her the gift?”

The thought of Barlow using Callie as a meat treat made my stomach churn, but the more I thought about it, the more confused I became.

Jameson noticed my hesitation. “What is it, Sam?”

My anger slipped away. It felt like I could finally think
straight. “I know that vampire.
Knew
that vampire. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jameson scowled. “What doesn’t?”

I pointed to Mosley’s body again. “Milford’s an eighty-year-old vampire. He’s in control of his hunger. He wouldn’t kill like this.”

“Things change,” Jameson said, turning away from Mosley’s body. He blinked away tears, then said, “Vampires are unpredictable.”

“Milford
is
predictable,” I insisted. “He’s not like the others. Why kill Ethan?”

“Perhaps this is his true nature.”

“After all these years?” I shook my head. “No, it doesn’t make any sense. When he was holding Jodie, it’s like … he wasn’t in control of himself. He kept asking for Dawn. What would he want with her?”

“You believe Meriwether set the vampire upon them?”

I crossed the driveway and walked through the grass until I reached the man I’d shot. I rolled him over and inspected him. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. His clothes were slick with blood, and his bowels had released, soiling his black slacks. The man was handsome, in a way, almost delicate enough to be considered pretty, but death had taken that from him, slackening his face and making him look like a dime-store mannequin.

“Who is he?” Jameson asked, bending over to look at the body.

“No idea.” I fumbled in the dead man’s slacks until I found his wallet and held up his driver’s license. “Collin Stevens,” I said, squinting to read by the light from the kitchen window. “Lives in Champaign. Forty-seven. Six foot, one hundred and eighty pounds. He isn’t an organ donor.”

“Why would that make a difference?” Jameson asked.

“It could mean he’s a selfish asshole,” I said, “but yeah, it probably doesn’t mean anything. Except for the part where he tried to freeze me to death with magic and was working with the undead, so I’m sticking with asshole.”