For a moment—probably imagined by Eph, but he accepted it anyway—he saw the formerly human Kelly behind her eyes, looking at him with an expression of peace.
Then the creature returned and sagged in release.
Eph remained holding her up until her white blood ran almost down to his sword handle. Then, overcoming his shock, he pivoted and removed the blade, and Kelly’s body lay upon the floor.
Zack was screaming now. He rose up in a fit of strength and rage, throwing off the feelers. The blind vampire children went wild themselves and ran at Eph. He swung his slickened blade diagonally upward, easily slaying the first one. That made the second jump back. Eph watched as it retreated, loping out of the room with its head turned almost fully over its shoulder, watching Eph until it was gone.
Eph lowered his sword. Zack stood over the remains of his vampire mother, crying and gasping. Zack looked at his father with a look of anguished disgust.
“You killed her,” said Zack.
“I killed the vampire that had taken her away from us. Away from you.”
“I hate you! I fucking hate you!”
In his fury, Zack found a long-handled flashlight on the countertop and grabbed it, going after his father. Eph blocked the strike to his head, but the boy’s forward momentum carried him into Eph and he fell on top of him, pressing against Eph’s broken ribs. The boy was surprisingly strong, and Eph was in agony. Zack hammered away at Eph, Eph blocking the blows with his forearm. The boy lost the flashlight but kept fighting, his fists striking Eph’s chest, hands reaching inside Eph’s coat. Finally Eph dropped his sword in order to grip the boy’s wrists and hold him off.
Eph saw, crumpled in the boy’s left fist, a piece of paper. Zack saw that Eph had noticed and fought his father’s attempts to pry open his fingers.
Eph pulled out the crumpled paper map. Zack had tried to take it from him. He stared into his son’s eyes and saw the presence. He saw the Master seeing through Zack.
“No,” said Eph. “No—please. No!”
Eph pushed the boy away. He was sickened. He looked at the map, then slipped it back into his pocket. Zack stood, backpedaling. Eph saw that the boy was about to take a run at the nuke. At the detonator.
The Born was there, Mr. Quinlan intercepting the boy and swallowing him up in a bear hug, spinning him away. The Born had a diagonal scrape across his face, from his left eye to his right cheek. Eph got to his feet, the ripping pain in his chest nothing compared to the loss of Zack.
Eph picked up his sword and went to Zack, still held by the Born. Zack was grimacing and nodding his head rhythmically. Eph held the silver blade near his son, watching for a response.
The silver did not repel him. The Master was in his mind but not his body.
“This isn’t you,” said Eph, speaking to Zack and also convincing himself. “You’re going to be okay. I have to get you out of here.”
We must hurry.
Eph grabbed Zack from him. “Let’s go to the boats.”
The Born lifted his leather pack to his shoulder, then gripped the straps of the bomb, pulling it off the counter. Eph grabbed the pack at his feet and pushed Zack toward the door.
Dr. Everett Barnes hid behind the trash shed located twenty feet from the restaurant, on the edge of the dirt parking lot. He sucked air through his broken teeth and felt the pleasurable sting of pain that produced.
If there truly was a nuclear bomb in play—which, judging by Ephraim’s apparent obsession with vengeance, there was—then Barnes needed to get as far away from this place as possible, but not before he shot that bitch. He had a gun. A nine-millimeter, with a full clip. He was supposed to use it against Ephraim, but the way he saw it, Nora would be a bonus. The cherry on top.
He tried to catch his breath in order to slow his heart rate. Placing his fingers to his chest, he felt a strange arrhythmia. He barely knew where he was, obeying blindly the GPS that connected him to the Master and that read the positioning of Zack with a unit hidden in the teenager’s shoe. In spite of the Master’s assurances, Barnes was nervous; with these vampires wilding all around the property, there was no guarantee they would be able to know a friend from an enemy. Just in case, Barnes was determined to get to some sort of vehicle if he had any chance to escape before this camp went up in a mushroom cloud.
He spotted Nora about a hundred feet away. He aimed at her as best he could and opened fire. Five rounds cracked out of the gun in rapid succession, and at least one of them connected with Nora, who fell down behind a line of trees . . . leaving a faint mist of blood floating in the air.
“I got you—you fucking cunt!” said Barnes triumphantly.
He pushed off from the gate and ran across the open lot toward the outlying trees. If he could follow the dirt road back out to the main street, he could find a car or some other means of transportation.
He reached the first line of trees, stopping there, shuddering as he discovered a puddle of blood on the ground . . . but no Nora.
“Oh, shit!” he said, and instinctively turned and rushed into the woods, tucking the gun in his pants. It burned him. “Shit,” he squealed. He never knew guns got this hot. He bent both arms protectively before his face, the branches ripping at his uniform and stripping medals off his chest. He paused in a clearing and hid in the underbrush, panting, the hot muzzle burning his leg.
“Looking for me?”
Barnes turned until he saw Nora Martinez just three trees away. Her forehead bore a gash, a bleeding, open wound the size of a finger. But she was unharmed otherwise.
He tried to run, but she grabbed the back of his jacket collar, pulling him back.
“We never had that last date you wanted,” she said, hauling him through the trees to the dirt drive.
“Please, Nora—”
She pulled him into the clear and looked him over. Barnes’s heart was racing, his breath short.
She said, “You don’t run this particular camp, do you?”
He pulled the gun out but it tangled on his Sansabelt pants. Nora quickly took it away and cocked it in a single expert move. She pressed it against his face.
He held up his hands. “Please.”
“Ah. Here they come.”
Out of the trees came the vampires, ready to converge, hesitant only because of the silver sword in Nora’s hand. They circled the two humans, looking for an opening.
“I am Dr. Everett Barnes,” Barnes announced.
“Don’t think they care for titles right now,” she said, holding them at bay. She frisked Barnes and found the GPS receiver. She stomped on it. “And I would say you’ve just about outlived your usefulness right now.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’m going to release a bunch of these bloodsuckers, of course,” she said. “The question is, what are you going to do?”
“I . . . I have no weapon anymore.”
“That’s too bad. Because, like you, they don’t care much for a fair fight.”
“You . . . you wouldn’t,” he said.
“I am,” she said. “I’ve got bigger problems than you.”
“Give me a weapon . . . please . . . and I will do whatever you want. Whatever you need, I will give you . . .”
“You want a weapon?” asked Nora.
Barnes whimpered something like “Yes.”
“Then,” Nora said, “have one . . .”
Out of her pocket, she produced the butter-knife shank she had painfully crafted and buried it firmly in Barnes’s shoulder, jamming it between the humerus and the collarbone.
Barnes squealed and, more important, bled.
With a battle cry, she raced out at the largest vampire, cutting him down, then spinning, drawing more to her.
The rest paused just a moment to confirm that the other human held no silver and that the scent of blood came from him. Then they ran at him like pound dogs thrown a slab of meat.
Eph dragged Zack with him, following the Born to the shorel
ine where the dock began. He watched Mr. Quinlan hesitate a moment, the keg-shaped bomb in his arms, before crossing from the sand onto the wood planking of the long dock.
Nora came running to meet them. Fet was alarmed at her wound, rushing to her. “Who did this to you?” he roared.
“Barnes,” she said. “But don’t worry. We won’t be seeing him again.” She then looked at Mr. Quinlan. “You have to go! You know you can’t wait for daylight.”
The Master expects that. So I will stay. This is perhaps the last time we will see the sun.
“We’re going now,” said Eph, Zack pulling at his arm.
“I’m ready,” said Fet, starting toward the dock.
Eph raised his sword, holding the point near Fet’s throat. Fet looked at him, anger rising.
“Just me,” Eph said.
“What the . . . ?” Fet used his own sword to bat Eph’s away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Eph shook his head. “You stay with Nora.”
Nora looked from Fet to Eph.
“No,” said Fet. “You need me to do this.”
“She needs you,” said Eph, the words stinging as he spoke them. “I have Mr. Quinlan.” He looked back at the dock, needing to go. “Get to a skiff and sail downriver. I’ve gotta give Zack to Ann and William, to get him out of here. I’ll tell them to be looking for you.”
Nora said, “Let Mr. Quinlan set the detonator. You just drop him off.”
“I have to make sure it’s set. Then I’ll be along.”
Nora hugged him hard, then stepped back. She lifted Zack’s chin to look at his face, to try to give him some confidence or consolation. The boy blinked and looked away.
“You’re going to be okay,” she told him.
But the boy’s attention was elsewhere. He was looking skyward, and after a moment Eph heard it too.
Black helicopters. Approaching from the south. Coming in low.
Gus came hobbling down from the beach. Eph saw immediately that his left arm was badly broken—his left hand swelling with blood—though that condition did not in any way cool the gangbanger’s anger toward him. “Choppers!” yelled Gus. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
Eph quickly slipped off his pack. “Take it,” he said to Fet. The Lumen was inside.
“Fuck the manual, man,” Gus said. “This is practice!”
Gus dropped his gun, shaking off his own pack with a painful grunt—first his good arm, and then Nora helped him lift it off his broken one—then rummaged inside for two purple-colored canisters from his pack. He pulled the pins with his teeth, rolling the smoke grenades to the right and to the left.
Violet smoke billowed, lifted by the shore wind, shielding the beach and dock from view and providing some intermediate cover from the approaching helicopters. “Get outta here!” yelled Gus. “You and your boy. Take care of the Master. I’ll cover your ass—but you remember, Goodweather, you and me, we got business to settle after.” Gus gently, though with great pain, pushed the jacket sleeve up from the swollen wrist of his bad arm, showing Eph the scarred word “MADRE,” left there from all of Gus’s bloodletting.
“Eph,” said Nora. “Don’t forget—the Master is still out here somewhere.”
At the far corner of the dock, some thirty yards from shore, Ann and William waited inside two ten-foot aluminum rowboats with outboard motors. Eph ran Zack to the first boat. When the boy would not board willingly, Eph lifted him up bodily and placed him in there. He looked at his son. “We’re going to get through this, okay, Z?”
Zack had no response. He watched the Born loading the bomb onto the other boat, between the rear and middle bench seats, and gently but firmly lift William out, depositing him back on the dock.
Eph remembered the Master was in Zack’s head, seeing this too. Seeing Eph right now.
“It’s just about over,” Eph said.
The violet smoke cover billowed up off the beach, blowing across to the trees, revealing more advancing vampires. “The Master needs a human to take him across water,” said Fet, stepping up with Nora and Gus. “I don’t think there’s anybody left here but us three. We just have to make sure nobody else gets to the skiffs.”
The violet smoke parted strangely, as though folding in on itself. As though something had passed through it at incredible speed.
“Wait—did you see that?” yelled Fet.
Nora heard the thrumming presence of the Master. Impossibly, the wall of smoke changed course completely, curling back from the trees and rolling against the river breeze toward the shore—consuming them. Nora and Fet were immediately separated, vampires rushing at them silently out of the smoke, their bare feet soft on the damp sand.
Helicopter rotors chopped at the air overhead. Cracks and thumps made the sand jump at their shoes, rifle fire from above. Snipers shooting blindly into the smoke cover. A vampire took one to the top of its head just as Nora was about to cut it down. The rotors whipped smoke back at her, and she did a full three-sixty with her sword straight out, blindly coughing, choking. Suddenly she was unsure which side was shore and which was water. She saw a swirling in the smoke, like a dust devil, and heard the thrumming loudly again.
The Master. She kept swinging, fighting the smoke and everything in it.
Gus, keeping his bad arm behind him, rushed blindly sideways through the choking violet cloud, keeping to the shore. The sailboats were tied to a dock unconnected to land, anchored some forty or fifty feet out in the water.
Gus’s left side was throbbing, his arm swollen. He felt feverish as he broke from the edge of the violet cloud, before the river-facing windows of the restaurant, expecting a column of hungry vampires. But he was alone on the beach.
Not so in the air. He saw the black helicopters, six of them directly overhead, with another six or so coming up behind. They hovered low, swarming like giant mechanized bees, whipping sand into Gus’s face. One of them moved out over the river, scattering the surface water, whipping moisture with the force of shards of glass.
Gus heard the rifle cracks and knew they were shooting at the skiffs. Trying to scuttle them. Thumps at his feet told him they were shooting at him too, but he was more concerned about the choppers starting off over the lake—searching for Goodweather, for the nuke.
“Que chingados esperas?” he cursed in Spanish. “What are you waiting for?”
Gus fired at those choppers, trying to bring them down. A scorching stab in his calf dropped him to one knee, and he knew he had been shot. He kept firing at the helicopters heading out over the river, seeing sparks fly off the tail.
Another rifle round pierced his side with the force of an arrow. “Do it, Eph! Do it!” he yelled, falling to his elbow and still firing.
One helicopter wobbled, and a human figure fell from it into the water. The chopper failed to right itself, its rear tail spinning frontward until it collided with another chopper, and both aircraft rolled and crashed down into the river.
Gus was out of ammo. He lay back on the beach, just a few yards from the water, watching the death birds hover over him. In an instant, his body was covered with laser sights projecting out of the colored fog.
“Goodweather gets fucking angels,” said Gus, laughing, sucking air. “I get laser sights.” He saw the snipers leaning out of their open cabin doors, sighting him. “Light me up, motherfuckers!”
The sand danced all around him as he was shot through many times. Dozens of bullets rattled his body, severing it, grinding it . . . and Gus’s last thought was, You better not mess up this one too, doc.
“Where are you taking me?”
Zack stood in the middle of the boat, rocking in the wake. Their puttering motor had faded into the darkness and the purple fog, leaving only the usual humming sensation in Zack’s head. It mixed with the low throb of the helicopters approaching.
The woman named Ann pushed off from the dock cleat, while William pulled and pulled the rip cord of the coughing outboard motor, streams of vi
olet smoke trailing past them. “To our island downriver.” She looked to William. “Hurry.”
Zack said, “What do you have there?”
“We have shelter. Warm beds.”
“And?”
“We have chickens. A garden. Chores. It’s an old fort from the American Revolution. There are children your age. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe there.”
The Master’s voice said, You were safe here.
Zack nodded, blinking. He lived like a prince, in a real castle in the center of a giant city. He owned a zoo. Everything he wanted.
Until your father tried to take you away.
Something told Zack to stay focused on the dock. The motor turned over, sputtering to life, and William turned in the rear seat and worked the tiller, steering them into the current. The helicopters were visible now, their lights and laser sights brightening the purple smoke on the beach. Zack counted off seven sets of seven blinks as the dock began to recede from view.
A blur of purple smoke burst from the long edge of the dock, flying through the air toward them. Out of it appeared the Master, its cloak flying behind it like wings, arms outstretched, the wolf-headed walking stick in one hand.
Its two bare feet landed in the aluminum boat with a bang. Ann, kneeling at the front point, barely had time to turn. “Fuck me . . .” She saw the Master before her—recognizing the pallid flesh of Gabriel Bolivar. This was the guy her niece was always yapping about. She wore him on T-shirts, hung his posters on her walls. And now, all that Ann could think of was, I never liked his fucking music . . .
The Master set down his staff, then reached for her and, in a ripping motion, tore her in half at the waist the way strongmen do very thick phone books—then hurled both halves into the river.
William was transfixed by the sight of the Master, who lifted him by his armpit and flat-handed his face with such tremendous force that William’s neck snapped and his head flopped back off his shoulders like a removed coat hood. It dumped him into the river water as well, then retrieved its walking stick and looked down at the boy.