The Vampiric Housewife (42 page)

    
Outside the hospital total chaos had broken out. Not a soul paid them any attention. The hospital was on fire, the town had just dropped into the ground. Humans and vampires alike were crying and yelling. Two military helicopters circled the sky like vultures. A blood-drenched Alessandro and a battered Jonathan found them.

    
“What happened to the town?” she asked stopping to look back at it.

    
“It must have been wired on an explosive that blew the ground out from beneath it,” Alessandro said. “I don’t know if the fire started a domino effect that took the rest of the town down with it, but those helicopters make me think it was something else. A conscious action taken. Perhaps to hide evidence of what went on here incase the project was ever exposed.”

    
“We have to help! There are innocent people down there!” Valerie said.

    
The two helicopters landed just outside of town.

    
“We have to go,” Ethan said.

    
“But—“ Valerie protested.

    
“We don’t know who’s getting off those helicopters, Valerie,” Jonathan said. “We have to go.”

     
She let them put her into the jeep, and she drove away from Sangre Valley for the very last time.

Chapter Forty-five

Living

    
It was over. Venjamin was dead. Charlie was dead. St. Vladimir had burnt to the ground. Sangre Valley was in ruins. Valerie had expected a weight to be lifted from her shoulders. She thought she would finally feel safe, feel free. But all she felt was empty. Her husband had given his life to save hers. She would have to go home and tell her children that she failed. She hadn’t rescued Charlie like she promised. She killed a man after she swore never to take another life. Her youngest son may be the spawn of the most evil man she had ever met. He had violated her in a whole new, sick way. She wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Her body was enervated, her mind was exhausted.

    
The flight back to the Virgin Islands was long. She sat motionless and stiff, blood staining her blouse, her eyes dazed and lost in thought. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours and she could not process it all; she was in a state of shock. Ethan sat next to her, his blue eyes watching her every movement, but he did not speak to her or console her. He knew she was hurting, but he also knew that the best thing he could do for her was be here when the inevitable breakdown came. So he waited. Halfway through the flight Valerie fell into his arms sobbing uncontrollably. Her body convulsed with the power of her grief as he gently stroked her hair. He wished he could take all the pain away.

    
Even once they landed, Valerie did not leave Ethan’s arms. Tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. Jonathan had called Gabriella. The kids would be back in the coming night. Alessandro and Jonathan spent the day wide awake pouring over the fountain of downloaded information and spinning theories about what exactly happened to Sangre Valley and who the helicopters belonged to. Valerie slept in Ethan’s bed. He held her and she slept hard and long and dreamless. Nothing happened other than sleep and comfort. Sleep for Valerie, comfort for Ethan. He had not held a woman in his arms, slept with a body against him since Malia. It had been even longer since he had a warm body next to him. As Valerie’s wounds had been ripped open ever wider by the night’s events, his had begun to heal for the first time.

    
Lying there, listening to Valerie’s breathing he thought about Malia’s version of life after death. How they would be reborn and would find each other again. He didn’t believe that Valerie was a reincarnated version of Malia, yet he felt as if he had found what he had with her again.

     
He drifted into sleep sometime during the day, and when Valerie woke, she found him asleep. She turned to face him and gently touched the scars on his face. His eyes flashed open. She didn’t remove her hand and gave him a small smile. “Hi.”

    
“Hi,” he said and she wanted to laugh. Even in a tender moment his voice was rock hard. But her lightheartedness quickly faded. “I have to tell my children that their father is dead tonight.” She paused, her puffy violet eyes searching those oceanic depths. She could tell he knew what she was going to say. He knew and understood. But she was going to say it anyway. “That means that this, us, has to wait. They are already going to have enough to handle.”

    
“I’m good at waiting.”

    
She wanted to kiss him again, feel that passion again, let it carry her far, far away from everything that had transpired and everything that was to come, let that kiss strip her of her clothing and devour her until she no longer existed. She knew all she had to do to escape was kiss him. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  
  
Instead she slipped out of bed, showered washing the sins of last night away, dressed, poured herself some warmed blood in a mug, and waited for her children. When all three came bursting through the door, they hugged her, clung to her in a way they hadn’t since they were small. She held them tight kissing their heads, squeezing them tighter and tighter with each embrace.

    
“Where’s Dad?” John asked looking around the room. “Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

    
“I need you guys to sit down,” she said.

    
“Mom?” Amelia said, her voice quivering.

    
They sat on the couch and Valerie told them what had happened that night. How their father died to save her life, how they were safe now and Venjamin was dead, Sangre Valley was gone.

    
John threw a candle stick across the room leaving a dent in the wall and shattered a vase, then picked up and threw everything that he could. Amelia dissolved into her mother’s arms crying as Harry sat very still in his chair, tearless and placid. Eventually John calmed down and let his mother hold him. Only Harry stayed ossified when she embraced him. The one thing she did not tell them—or anyone for that matter—was about Harry being Venjamin’s son.

    
“What now?” Amelia asked, her eyes red and puffy. “What do we do now?”

    
“We continue to live. Your dad wanted us to have a life of happiness and peace. We can’t honor his memory or show our love for him any better than living that kind of life. We will make our own choices and never let someone else dictate how we live. That is what we do now.”

THE END

EPILOUGE

    
Dr. Henrick stepped off the helicopter in military camouflage to survey the damage. The town looked as if it had been ravished by war, not a single building had been left standing. St. Vladimir was burnt to the ground. Venjamin was believed to be dead. A body would have to be found and identified, of course. The humans who worked in the hospital were huddled at the edge of town unsure of what happened or what was going to become of them. Ms. Pines approached him, face and clothes smudged with black soot but still professional.

    
“Col. Henrick,” she said with a salute.

    
“Lt. Pines. Were you able to secure all of Venjamin’s work before the hospital burnt down?”

    
“It’s all sitting on our server. But we were compromised. The assailants hacked the system. With the place burnt down, I have no way of knowing how much information was downloaded.”

    
He nodded. “I take it you were the one to activate the underground detonators?”

    
“Yes sir. That was the proper protocol if Sangre Valley was ever compromised.”

    
Henrick smiled. Venjamin was the genius. But Henrick had always been the one running the show, the true puppet master, and the genius doctor never even knew it. Henrick was an undercover military operant, former combat doctor turned bio-weapon specialist who was familiar with Venjamin’s work and its potential. The great doctor treated Henrick as an employee instead of a colleague or an equal. He refused to confide in him or even let him into the hospital. Instead Venjamin kept him in town to deal with minor medical incidents. He never thought Henrick possessed his intelligence or imagination. Of course the doctor had always been conceited, but perhaps he was right. Maybe Henrick lacked the talent and superior acumen but certainly not the imagination or the cunning.

    
Then there was Lt. Pines. Venjamin trusted her when he had not trusted Henrick. She laid eyes on everything the doctor handled—every project, experiment, and lab report. She was even able to give him inside intel on the health of the great doctor. He may not have confided his condition to her, but Lt. Pines was not only an effective agent but a trained nurse. She found and copied his own lab reports, the ones that finally revealed the hemochromatosis and the fact that he had not diagnosed himself with the disease until it was too late. His liver was shot, clogged with excess iron. It was not only his own blood that was killing him, but his arrogance. If only he had consulted another doctor, the hemochromatosis wouldn’t have reached its terminal stage. Henrick had to admit, he relished the justice of it.

    
“What is our next course of action?” Lt. Pines asked.

    
“We need to get the hospital staff in a debriefing and begin a search and rescue mission in town. Made-vampires are to be staked on sight. Born or crossbred vampires are to be taken to the base.”

    
“Our cover story?”

    
“For now, an earthquake. I am putting you in charge of rounding up the staff and keeping them calm. What do we know of Rhett Miller and Drew Sanders?”

    
“Miller is believed to be dead. Sanders left town as soon as the fire began.”

    
“Sanders will have to be tracked down. Do we know who began the fire?”

    
“Valerie Murray, Ethan Shanahan, and two accomplices. We’re still trying to get names and locations on them.”

    
Two tanks rolled up to the edge of town along with two covered trucks.

    
“Very good, Lt. Pines. You’re dismissed.”

    
Lt. Pines saluted, turned on a dime, and went to work.

    
Venjamin had always thought the Murrays were special. Henrick never quite agreed. He was now reassessing that assumption. He still didn’t believe that there was anything innately special about Valerie Murray. But she did have more gumption than any housewife he had ever met, especially within the limits of Sangre Valley. He knew all about Ethan Shanahan as well. His resources were even greater than Venjamin’s. He would find Shanahan and the information that he had stolen.

    
“Sir, where would you like us to take the survivors?” a solider asked, a child in his arms.

    
“Dr. Henrick?” the boy called out. “Is my mom okay? What about my dad? Have you found them?” It was Bobby Miller.

    
Henrick smiled at the child. “I’m sure they’re fine, Bobby. Private, put Bobby in my helicopter. You wouldn’t mind keeping me company, would you Bobby?” The boy shook his head. “Triage has been set up in the covered trucks. Keep me apprised of the count. Both dead and alive.”

    
Venjamin’s reign was ending. Henrick’s was just beginning.