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Nightfall Part 3
By VampireHunter_D
"Up In Smoke"
Roy hadn’t expected to find a guard on Anderson’s door, and was startled for a second after rounding the final corner to Anderson’s room. The guard glanced at him then did a double take as he realized how heavily armed Roy was. Something was different with this man, Roy could see a shadowy haze about him. Something clicked and Roy suddenly understood; the man was a vamp.
That made it easier.
A column of liquid fire shot from the flame thrower, leaving a flaming trail along the wall until it connected with the vamp. The creature started screaming, retreating down the hall as the flame consumed it, finally stumbling to the floor as it was destroyed by the fire. A fireball seemed to erupt from the vamp, burning out to leave only a smoldering, blackened husk like a burnt log.
The door that the vamp had been guarding opened up and the other vamp that had been with Anderson stuck his head out to see what was going on. Roy triggered the thrower again, but the vamp ducked back into the room before the flame reached him. The slamming of the door was followed by an alarm klaxon going off, and Roy knew he didn’t have much time.
Removing two grenades from his belt, he pulled the pins and threw them towards the door of Anderson’s office as he backed around the corner. The resulting explosion seemed to shake the entire floor, the sprinkler system finally kicking in and showering everything with water. Roy stepped back into the other hallway to see a gapping hole where the door use to be, the flaming bits strewn across the floor quickly being doused by the artificial rain.
"Are you crazy?" shouted Anderson, staggering through the hole.
Like the guard, Anderson had a grey haze about him that Roy could see, but it was much darker, and Roy realized that it confirmed that Anderson was a Master. It slightly unnerved him that he was attaining these abilities, but he knew that the source behind them was Divine, and that it was for a reason.
"I wish it were that simple," stated Roy, triggering the thrower again and advancing towards Anderson.
The Master vanished back into the room, barely avoiding the river of flame that was flowing through the hall. Roy was almost to the opening when something screamed in his mind for him to turn around. He spun to see another vamp Master charging at him almost faster than he could follow, and he brought the thrower up as the Master leapt at him.
Manson had never seen a human react so fast, and he knew that it was too late for him to change what was going to happen. His momentum impaled him on the barrel of the thrower, the human staggering a little but holding his ground. Pain overwhelmed his senses as he tried to push himself off of the barrel, but Roy wasn’t about to let him escape.
The back of Manson blew out in a cloud of blood and flame, the Master screaming out in agony as he burst into flames. Roy jerked the barrel out of the burning vamp, letting it drop to the floor, and continued washing flame over the Master to keep it burning despite the downpour from the sprinklers.
Two more shapes appeared at the end of the corner, Roy’s eyes widening as he recognized Jim and Ron. The dark haze that hung on them was not as unexpected as their appearance, though he had hoped for another fate concerning Ron. The brothers hissed at him, their faces changing slightly in response to their urges. They were still too young to shift their forms much, but it didn’t really matter, Roy knew what he had to do.
The spray of fire went wide, leaving a burnt trail down the opposite wall, as someone grabbed a hold of the tank strapped to Roy’s back and hurled him down the hall. Roy hit the floor hard, sliding a few feet before stopping, and cursed himself for forgetting about Anderson and the other Master. The pools of water around him were beginning to take on a colored sheen to them, and he realized that the tank of fuel for the thrower was leaking.
Roy unbuckled the harness of the thrower, letting the useless weapon slip off of his shoulders as he watched Jim and Ron rush towards him. They were being ordered by Anderson, his dark form standing in the blasted hole in the wall, to kill him. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, the two former friends charging down the hall towards him, Anderson’s arm flapping about as he kept pointing at the downed Roy.
A warmth was pulsing at Roy’s side, and he knew it to be from the cross in his jacket pocket. It was not the hatred that he felt towards the vamps that had allowed him to destroy them back in Columbus, it had been only his faith. That faith was now working it’s power again, calling to him, telling him how to end this confrontation.
The glow was nearly blinding as Roy pulled the cross out from his pocket, it’s brilliance filling the hallway in Holy light. Jim and Ron were vaporized instantly, a dark after image visible in the glow for a few seconds after their destruction, and Roy prayed that God would have mercy on their souls.
They didn’t ask to become vampires, he thought. Please judge their lives as humans, Lord. Not as the vile creatures that they became.
Anderson was a little more resilient to the Light, but not enough to make any difference to his fate. He didn’t vaporize like the others, he seemed to just crumble away, leaving a pile of ashes where he had been standing.
When the glow from the cross finally subsided, Roy slumped down on himself, ready to give way to the exhaustion that he was expecting to envelope him. But it did not come, his senses remaining vaguely alert. He nearly jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up to see the confused face of a soldier.
"Wh…What was that?" asked the man. "What happened to President Anderson?"
"He was a Master," answered Roy, thankful that there had been witnesses. "There might still be some here, I don’t know how far the light reached this time."
"Through the whole base," answered the soldier. "We’ve got reports from every level of it happening. A lot of people went up in smoke."
"Vamps," informed Roy, feeling very tired. "They were all vamps."
"I, uh, don’t think that there’s any officers left," said the soldier. He looked at a complete loss as to what to do. "And a lot of the scientists are gone, too."
The playing field just got leveled, and Roy was thinking that maybe Solution Center would finally be able to live up to it’s name. They would have to regroup, find out who was left that knew how to work everything here, but now they could begin their mission in earnest.
"Then I guess that means you’re in charge," said Roy.
* * * * *
"Why didn’t we come here in a chopper to begin with?" asked Shirl of Le’ Dane. "It would have been a lot better than spending three days in that personnel carrier."
"It was not available at the time," replied the Major. "Be glad that Bonnetelli freed it up for your use now, our forces are not as well equipped as your own. You’ll still save two days time getting back to your transport."
The Sikorsky S-76 transport copter was landing in a field next to the armored carrier that had been home to the group for the last few days. Shirl was a little surprised to see the American copter, but assumed that the Italians had merely requisitioned it from one of the many US Air Force bases.
"I guess we should be thankful of that," she replied. "Tell Bonnetelli that’ll we’ll send a message as soon as we get back, and let him know what we’re going to do."
"It is unfortunate that the vampires control most of the world’s communications now. Overriding their satellite controls is not an easy task."
"Well, Solution has it’s own satellite, but I think it would be better if we returned unannounced. At least this copter ride will have us returning to the base ahead of the next scheduled check-in."
"And that will be to our advantage," added Bill. "Going back to that place, knowing that it’s being run by some Masters, is more like suicide than a plan."
"You don’t think that Dolph and his bunch will come through?" asked Diane.
"Faith is the Preacher’s thing, not mine. Not that I mind having them on our side, I just wish we had some more leverage."
"And what kind of leverage could you hope to have over a vampire that can weld a cross against his own kind?" asked Shirl. "I think they’ve proven enough to us."
"They’re waiting for you," said Le’ Dane, nodding towards the copter. "There may be a mid-air refuel required, but you should be safely back on your plane before nightfall."
Bill and Diane headed for the copter as Shirl turned to face Le’ Dane.
"Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?" asked Shirl. "You’re pretty good in a fight, and we could use someone like you."
"Be part of your strike team?" he joked. "Bonnetelli has need of me here. I’m one of the few medics we have."
"I didn’t know that," she said.
"It didn’t come up," he pointed out.
"After we destroy Bartholomew…"
"Yes?"
"You’ll come to the States?"
"That would not be out of the question."
Shirl smiled then trotted off towards the waiting copter. She couldn’t believe that she had been flirting with the Major, but then where would they be without their hopes and dreams? That was one of the forces driving them. Without hope that they could succeed they wouldn’t have the dream of destroying the vampires.
She wasn’t ready to let her dreams go up in smoke.
"Power Plays"
The contingent of vehicles that arrived at Solution Center was nothing less than inspiring. In less than twenty four hours after the demise of the vampire infestation, General Brightton had recalled nearly half of the forces that had been "in the field" carrying out recon, rescue, and search and destroy missions. The fact that this number of personnel was only about a forth of the SC’s capacity spoke volumes about the supposed State of the Union. But, on the other hand, it offered hope to everyone at the base that things would finally begin to advance in the state of the war against the vampires.
Brightton had, of course, returned to the SC himself and taken direct command of the remaining armed forces. He had immediately called for a debriefing, listening to the account of Anderson’s demise with a slight skepticism. He finally excepted the truth of the matter, and set nearly two dozen new rules into place regarding screening base personnel. He did not fully except the story of Roy’s miraculous cleansing of the base, and in turn ordered everyone to be tested.
When Roy pointed out that they could not trust the test results, since the test had been created by vamp scientists, it was decided that the best way to make sure everyone was human was to go back to basics. Solution Center was fully cleared out, everyone having to step out into the daylight as one of Brightton’s hand-picked teams swept the base to make sure it was clear.
Roy wondered how they could possibly hope to search a base the size of Solution in just the few hours of daylight left, and was quite impressed at their…solution. SC had been designed to give government forces a contingency plan should the base fall under attack or be compromised by enemy troops. Every single room was connected to a system that allowed the induction of gas into them. The highly effective, quick acting neural toxin that was part of the system was replaced by a special mixture of Brightton’s own conception. Sulfur and garlic, mixed with a silver nitrate compound, was piped through the entire base after Roy had blessed it at the request of the General.
The grunts jokingly referred to it as Holy Arsenic, and none of them doubted the effect that it would have on a vamp. Once Brightton was confident that the SC was clear, and that the remaining persons were human, he ordered everyone back inside and had the base completely sealed. The doors were to remain sealed except from direct order by himself, and the General did not foresee any need to have it otherwise.
A command team was quickly chosen, and Brightton gave them the job of getting the personnel of the base assigned duties. The General was not going to rest on the matter for one minute, and he fully expected the command team to have everything back in order and the research continued within one day. With that aspect handled, Brightton turned his attention to another issue that he had to deal with, namely the civilians that were present at Solution Center.
Brightton had decided to appoint Roy and Professor Rein as liaisons to the few dozen non-military personnel, and they were currently seated before the General, and his aid, in one of the many briefing rooms of the base. The General had decided he was not going to waste a lot of his time, or their limited resources, on settling this matter.
"I could simply enforce the previous policy of mandatory service, but I feel that that breeds an air of contempt and unrest among the ranks," stated the General. "Therefore, you can tell everyone of the civilians that I am asking for volunteers."
"I think that’s a better way to go," replied Roy, the Professor nodding in agreement.
"Those that don’t wish to volunteer will be assigned support duties."
This was going better than Roy had hoped. He had met several of the people that had been staying at the base as refugees, and he knew that though most of them would not hesitate to join in the battle, there were a few who would not be up to it at all. At least this way they could help in the cause but not have to face danger directly.
"Because of your knowledge, Professor," continued Brightton, "and your experience, Father, I would like both of you to join my small panel of advisors."
Both men agreed to the proposition. Professor Rein to continue his research and help in the development of anti-vampire tactics, and Roy so that he could remain in the loop of what was going on. He knew, somehow he knew deep inside that he was going to be instrumental in this war, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t put into a position where the powers-that-be held him back.
"Despite what ever treachery Anderson was trying to involve you in, Father, we have confirmed the Conversion Chain. The process in which by killing a Master you also kill his brood."
"Then we’re going to carry out the original plan, to try and locate Bartholomew?" asked Roy.
"Yes. But until then, we’re going to try another approach."
"What approach, General?" asked Professor Rein. Neither he nor Roy had liked the sound of Brightton’s last statement.
"We have confirmation of a nest not far from here, with a female Master in it. At noon tomorrow we are going to destroy it with a tactical nuclear missile."
"What?" asked both Roy and the Professor in unison.
"Don’t alarm yourselves, Gentlemen. It is a tactical strike. The warhead is very precise, and only a five mile radius will be affected by the blast."
"General, you can’t be serious," argued Rein. "While I’m fairly certain that a nuclear explosion would vaporize the vampires, what you’re suggesting is out of the question."
"It’s over-kill in the extreme," added Roy. "You can’t nuke every Master."
"We’re not planning to. If the test is a success, then when we’ve located Bartholomew it will only take one strike to end this war."
"But until then it’s going to be oh, look. This Master is getting too powerful, let’s nuke them just this one time," said Roy. "If it succeeds, then you’ll be tempted to do it again and again, justifying it each time."
"I’m not going to argue the point with you, Gentlemen. Preparations are already being made, and this will be carried out. We have to know for certain that we have this option to use against Bartholomew."
"I heard you wanted to take this war up a notch," growled Roy. "I just didn’t realize how far."
"Despite what ever derogatory remarks you may have heard, Father, I want to see this war won, and I will do what ever I think is necessary."
"Yeah, I guess you will."
* * * * *
Built utilizing the same technology that went into the B2 Stealth bomber, the super sonic transport resembled nothing less than a slightly shrunken Concord covered in black, sharply angled plates. A proto-type at the beginning of the plague of vampirism, the SSST Mark 1A had been in development at White Sands and had already passed everyone of it’s tests. It had only been awaiting Congressional approval for developing a dozen more of the craft when the world went to hell, and it’s flight crew had been summoned to use it in helping Anderson escape Washington.
Since then, it had sat in a special hangar at a secluded air-field not far from Solution Center. The flight crew, consisting of five highly trained individuals, had remained at SC, awaiting for their skills to be needed again. The time had come with the flight to Italy, and now the return flight home.
Captain Bowie was currently listening to Shirl’s recap of what had happened at Vatican City, having left the flying to his co-pilot and navigator. He had been promised an answer as to why he couldn’t contact Solution Center, and he was getting what he thought to be a hell of a good reason.
"I still can’t believe all this," said Bowie when Shirl was done. "A conspiracy carried out by a Vampire Lord? This is like the X-Files to the next power."
"I remember that show," said Bill. "Man, that was freaky on the news when they showed how Duchovney had become a vamp, back when this all first started."
"Oh, yeah," added Diane. "I had forgotten all about that. Anderson didn’t seem too upset in the interview when they asked how she felt about watching him get staked."
"Anyhow," said Bowie, turning the conversation back to Shirl. "Once we set down, we can get back to SC with no problem. Getting in, without them telling Anderson that we’re back though, is another thing."
"I think Dolph is planning on handling that facet of the mission."
"Wow," said Bowie, shaking his head. "Who would have ever thought of Holy Masters?"
Diane looked towards the forward section of the craft as the door to the cabin opened, and she gasped at the sight of blood splashed around the windshield of the craft. She could just see the mangled body of the co-pilot hanging half way out of his seat, the navigator stepping out of the cockpit and smiling at her with a blood covered face. The others turned to see what she was looking so surprised about, fear flooding through them.
"Bad news, folks," spoke Hedrick, the navigator. "Just talked to SC and Anderson’s dead. Oh, and I don’t see any point in carrying on with this façade any longer."
"Oh, God, Randy," said Bowie. "When? When, damn it?"
"Remember my little trip into Boulder last month? Met a hot little Master named Jeanette. She took a liking to me."
Shirl, Bill, and Diane all had their side arms out, their only option since their big weapons were stowed in the cargo hold. They certainly hadn’t been expecting any trouble on the flight.
"It wasn’t easy, hiding it and all, but Anderson was more than willing to help the thrall of a possible ally. Jeanette was trying to decide if she should side with him, let me come back so I could get the inside scoop for her. Didn’t think it would put me into the middle of this shit."
"You need me to help fly this bird, Randy," pointed out Bowie.
"Well, the way I figure it, you’ll be more than happy to help once you come on over!" Randy was smiling wickedly, showing off his fangs and laughing. "And while your friend’s little guns might hurt some, they ain’t going to stop me."
"You’re young," said Shirl, coolly. "Enough shots to the head, and you’re going to be down long enough for one of use to ram a steak through your heart."
"Not only would you be risking depressurization, but just like I need Bowie to help land this sucker, he needs me," replied Hedrick, calling her threat.
Bill was out of his seat and had an arm wrapped around Bowie before the others realized what he was doing. He pressed the barrel of his .45 against the pilot’s temple hard, pushing the man’s head to one side.
"And if he’s dead?" asked Bill, staring at the vamp.
Hedrick hesitated, suddenly not so sure of himself. He snorted, shaking his head in amusement, and said "You won’t kill him. Then who’d land the plane? You’d all die, and eventually I’d heal and just walk away."
Bill thumbed back the hammer on the automatic.
"At least we wouldn’t be one of you," he threatened.
"SPUR OF THE MOMENT"
Roy and Professor Rein left General Brightton’s office feeling less than enthusiastic about the upcoming Project Light, as the General called it. Neither of the men thought that the "test" was a good idea, they feared that it would be successful. To think that a vampire could survive a nuclear blast was ludicrous, but if General Brightton was willing to use the excuse of needing to test the theory now, then what was to stop him from using it again in the future?
"We can’t let this happen," said Roy as they walked aimlessly down the halls.
"I agree, my friend, but what can we do to stop it?" asked Professor Rein. "There are more personnel here than ever, and don’t think that we can find anyone that would be willing to help us stop the General’s plan."
"You’ve been here since the beginning, right?"
"Yes."
"You have a pretty high security clearance, I assume."
"Yes, yes, of course. My research into the mythical history of the vampire was a part of many of the projects here."
"General Brightton is an intelligent man, I doubt that your code will be active very much longer. If we’re going to do what I’m thinking we should do, then we’re going to have to act quickly."
"What are you thinking?" asked Rein, stopping and waiting for an answer.
"This suppression system that they used to flood the base with that anti-vampire gas…what if we use it on them?"
"The gas might make them nauseous but I don’t think that…"
"No, not that. We hook up the original tanks, the ones with the knock out gas. If we can put everyone under, then we would have free reign for about two hours. We can remove the warheads and hide them."
"Remove the warheads," repeated Rein, chuckling. "Excuse me, Father, but I do not believe that either one of us is qualified to do that."
"Oh, yeah. I guess it’s not as easy as in those James Bond movies," said Roy, looking a little disheartened.
"I would hope not."
"Well, what if… What if we trash the computers for launching them?"
"Roy, please think about this for a moment. With all of the computer systems in this place, and all of the technicians available to them, do you think that they won’t be able to repair them?"
"Damn it," cursed Roy. He quickly crossed himself and apologized. "We need to do something!"
"I concur. I was thinking more along the lines of simply blowing up the missiles."
"And you say I don’t think things through," exclaimed Roy. "I want to stop them from launching the nuke, not detonate it here ourselves."
"I am afraid that there are a few things that you do not understand, my friend. While I admit that I am not a rocket scientist, I did have some colleagues that were. Trust me when I say that we can do this."
"I don’t know about that, Professor."
"Not to insult you, Father, but I doubt that you would understand the scientific reasoning behind it."
Roy thought about it for a moment, and sense of righteousness seemed to come over him. He could not explain it, but he knew that Professor Rein had the right idea, the one that would work, and he trusted this feeling.
"Okay, Professor. Let’s do it."
* * * * *
Randy shuffled about nervously, his plan of slaughtering the humans and changing his friend completely blown out of the water. He had no doubts that this human would kill Bowie, he could smell the desperation emanating from him. He had boasted about walking away from a crash, but he doubted that he could actually do it. More than likely the sun would come up before he had healed, and then it would still turn out the same; with him dead.
"Looks like we got ourselves a little stand off here," said Randy, trying to appear a little surer than he felt. "This thing can’t stay on auto pilot forever, you know."
"Without both of you to fly the plane, I don’t think it’ll matter," said Bill.
"You can’t do this, man," Randy practically cried. "He’s human. You’re human."
"What’s the difference if you kill him or I kill him?"
"Bill," said Shirl, her voice flat and calm. "Put the gun down. You are not going to kill that man."
"Listen to your friend there, man," said Randy.
"If it matters to anyone," started Bowie, "I’d rather die than be one of those things."
"None of us are going to die," said Shirl.
"He has to," retorted Bill, nodding towards Randy.
"We’re going to be over the continental united states soon," said Randy. "If we’re not at the controls, we’re going to overshoot our landing spot."
"Shut the hell up for a minute, would ya vamp?" said Bill.
"Bill, please don’t do this," said Diane. "There has to be a way we can all get out of this."
"What about the others down below?" asked Bill. "Can’t any of them help you fly this bad boy?"
"No," answered Bowie. "They’re techs, they take care of the craft."
"Can’t one of us help you?" asked Diane. "Can’t you talk us through it?"
"You have no idea how difficult it is to handle this baby," said Bowie. "It would be too dangerous."
"But you could do it, right?" asked Bill. "It’s not like we have too much of a choice."
"No, no, no!" yelled Randy. "Listen, I’ll help him land the plane, then you guys let me go. I won’t bother you, you don’t bother me, and we all walk away from this."
"And what about Jameson in there?" asked Bowie, referring to his dead co-pilot. "How’s he going to walk away from this? Doesn’t seem like you were too interested in changing him over."
"Uh, yeah, well… I’m sorry, okay?" said Randy, shrugging and waving his hands about as he talked. "I got a little carried away. You know how hard it is to sneak off and find a bite to eat when you’re holed up with a bunch of humans?"
"I could do it," said Bowie, casting a sideways glance at Bill.
"NO!" screamed Randy, lunging at the two men.
"Gotcha," said Bill, turning his gun to meet Randy’s attack.
The .45 boomed once, like a clap of thunder in the small area, and a hole appeared in the center of Randy’s forehead. The vamp was slammed backwards, landing on the floor to look as lifeless as he should have been. The powder burn around the bullet hole slowly faded as the vamp began to heal, the tiny rupture sealing it self up.
"Better stake him," said Bill, releasing his grip on Bowie.
Shirl pulled a stake from one of the side pockets on her fatigues, and dropped down next to Randy. She raised the stake then slammed it down with all of her might, burying the sharpened piece of wood into his chest. The vamp jerked once, letting out a gargled cry, then crumbled away to leave a black skeleton covered with dust …and wet lumpy pieces.
"Sorry about that," said Bill as Captain Bowie turned to face him. "I had to get him close enough that we could take him down with one shot."
"Smart move," replied Bowie, a second before he hauled off and slugged Bill in the jaw.
Bill’s head snapped back, stars swimming in his eyes as he fell backwards into his chair. He grabbed his jaw, massaging it as it throbbed with pain, and tried to focus on the man standing before him.
"But don’t you ever put a fucking gun to my head again," said Bowie.
"I’ll try to remember that," mumbled Bill. It hurt to talk, and he figured he had said enough already.
"Didn’t think you had it in you," said Diane, kneeling next to Bill’s chair. "Don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought you were the type to avoid a fight if possible."
"I prefer to think of it as avoiding death," he joked, then grimaced.
"This won’t make it feel better," she started, then kissed him on the side of the face. "But it can’t hurt."
Bill just stared at her dumbfounded.
"Guess I’m your new co-pilot," said Shirl, facing Bowie.
The door from below opened up and the other three members of flight crew clamored up into the command room. They had armed themselves with weapons, two of them being smart enough to bring crossbows, and they looked ready to kick some ass.
"What happened?" asked Carter.
"Randy was a vamp," informed Bowie, drawing looks of shock from the three. "We’re going to have a real tricky landing coming up."
"Not to be disrespectful," said Shirl. "But can we get that cleaned up before I have to sit in there." She pointed towards the bloody remains of the co-pilot in the cockpit.
"Yeah," said Bowie, letting out a deep breath.
"Are you sure you’re up to this?" asked Shirl. She didn’t like the sad look in Bowie’s eyes. She had seen that look before, in people that had given up.
"Like Bill said. It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice."
"The Best Laid Plans…"
"Are you sure that they’ll let us in?" asked Professor Rein. "I know I’ve been here a while, but I never bothered with the tour and all that. I just can’t imagine them letting us waltz into the Security Center."
"Don’t worry, they’ll let us in," replied Roy, checking to make sure that the tools he had stuffed into his jacket didn’t show any telltale bulges. "They like to show off their toys."
"But what of the gas chamber?"
"Uh, gas disbursement room," corrected Roy. "It’s a separate room, at the back of the Security Center. Once we get in, we can lock the door and get to work.. It should only take a few seconds to reconnect the tanks, and then…"
"And then I carry out my part."
"And then you carry out your part."
Roy’s ‘guest’ card did not give them access to the Security Center, but Professor Rein’s did, and the two men casually sauntered into the main room. The last time Roy had been here, when Kat had given him the tour, the atmosphere had been somewhat relaxed, but that wasn’t the case now. None of the people present were the same ones that he had seen previously, General Brightton having apparently brought in his own people to operate the Security Center.
But considering that he had been under surveillance at the time, Roy thought that maybe the former operators had been vamps.
"May I help you, Gentlemen?" asked a serious looking Captain.
"I was just giving my friend here a tour," replied Rein.
"Sorry, Professor, but this area is off limits to non-operations personnel," said the Captain. "I’m afraid that I’ll have to ask you both to leave."
Roy shrugged, "Plan B."
He pulled a gun and shoved it into the Captain’s face, grabbing the man’s arm to keep him from stepping back. He glanced over his shoulder to see Professor Rein with his own weapon drawn, covering the four men seated at various consoles, and turned his attention back to the Captain.
"Who are you?" asked Roy.
"Captain Stillman, US Air Force."
"One of General Brightton’s boys?"
"Captain Stillman, US Air Force. Serial number one, one, eight…"
"All right, all right," said Roy. "Let’s not go there." He reached out and snagged the security ID card hanging on Stillman’s pants pocket by a clip. The card was solid blue, a magnetic strip on both sides, and had a small, white number four in the lower right hand corner, also on both sides.
Roy directed the Captain towards the rear of the room, keeping his gun pressed against the man’s head the entire time. He wouldn’t do it, of course, but he hoped that Captain Stillman didn’t realize that. Reaching the door to the gas disbursement room, Roy slid the card through the lock, the red light switching to green as the room became accessible.
"Come on, Professor," called Roy, turning around so that he could step into the room and leave the Captain behind.
Professor Rein had started backing towards Roy’s position, keeping an eye on the men he had been covering, when he suddenly stopped. Rein dropped his gun and clutched at his chest, his face contorted in pain. One of the men jumped up and grabbed the Professor as he began to fall, emanating a gargled cry of agony.
"I think he’s having a heart attack!" yelled the man that lowered Rein to the floor.
Another of the men hit an alarm button, calling over the intercom for medical assistance, while yet another began to perform CPR on the fallen Professor. Roy watched them try to save his friend’s life, his mission completely forgotten.
Captain Stillman took the gun from Roy, the Father offering no resistance what so ever, and simply tucked it under his belt. He retrieved his key card from Roy, also, and reclipped it to his pocket.
Medical personnel arrived, either carrying or pushing equipment, and went to work on Rein. MPs also arrived, quickly taking Roy into custody and marching him to the detainment area. He went with them peacefully, cursing himself for having put the elderly Professor into this situation.
* * * * *
Shirl had trained on piloting helicopters, and she was quickly learning that there was a world of difference when it came to flying a plane, especially one as advanced as the SSST Mark 1A. She was following Bowie’s instructions, but understanding them and carrying them out were two different things. The stick seemed to be extra sensitive, and she was constantly having to compensate her actions. The pedals were a different matter, their control stiff and sluggish in comparison to the stick, and she quickly realized that Bowie hadn’t been wrong when he said how difficult it would be.
"I’m getting a heat warning on the hull," said Bowie, constantly checking not only his displays, but also those that were normally monitored by the co-pilot. "What’s the readout on the dampening generator?"
"Uh…"
"Third one right of the thrust display."
"Thirty-seven percent."
"Not enough," commented Bowie. He flipped a few switches, then called out to one of the members of his crew. "Timms, we’re having problems with the dampener."
"On it, Captain."
"What’s wrong?" asked Shirl, not sure if she really wanted to know.
"Part of what keeps this baby from being detected is the hull plating, only problem is that with a craft this size, and flying at our speeds, the plating has a tendency to over-heat. The dampening system cools the hull from the inside."
"Can’t we just slow our speed?"
"No. The craft becomes too sluggish then. We’d crash for certain."
"How in the hell do you land this thing then?"
"We go in fast and low, and we use a system of braking thrusters and chutes."
"No wonder we were on the ground before we knew it, back in Italy."
"Told you it wouldn’t be easy."
Shirl wished that Roy was with them now, at least he would be able to offer a prayer that would more than likely be answered. She had never seen the likes of him before, and she had grown up in a very strict, very Christian family. What the man had been able to do, supposedly through his faith alone, was nothing short of miraculous, and they certainly needed a miracle right now.
"Coming up on our field," said Bowie, nosing the craft down some. "What’s the statis on the dampener, Timms?"
"Should be seeing results now, Captain," came the man’s response.
"Seventy percent, and climbing," reported Shirl.
"Okay, listen up. You control the braking thrusters. See that row of six toggle switches to your right?"
"Yeah," she replied.
"Flip open the thumb guards," he directed, referring to the plastic casings that covered the switches. "As soon as we touch down, flip the first three. Count five, then flip the other three."
"What happens if I flip them too soon?"
"The system overheats, shuts down, and we over shoot the runway."
"And if I flip them too late?" she asked.
"We don’t stop in time, and over shoot the runway."
"Is there a good point to any of this?"
"We beat the international record for our flight time," he replied, offering a smile.
She simply nodded and returned to staring out the front windshield. The ground seemed to rush up at them at a dizzying rate, a strange sense of vertigo dancing at the edge of her senses. The craft suddenly leveled off as Bowie pulled back on his stick, a sharp screech barely heard as the craft touched down on the runway.
Shirl flipped the first three toggles, a new roar audible through the craft as they were all lurched slightly forward. The braking sensation quickly faded, the speed of the SSST Mark 1A still over two hundred miles an hour, as she counted down from five. She reached one, flipped the second set of toggle switches, and braced for a second lurch from the braking thrusters being fired.
It never came.
A red light began flashing on both the pilot’s, and co-pilot’s panels, and Bowie started cursing as he made numerous adjustments. Shirl looked on in shock as the end of the runway quickly came into view, a metal and concrete barrier visible a few dozen yards past it.
"Again!" yelled Bowie.
Shirl flipped the switches back to their off position, then back on. This time the thrusters kicked in, all six of the units working to greatly slow the craft down. She saw Bowie hit another series of buttons, possibly the chute deploy controls, and felt an additional force trying to slow the hurtling aircraft down.
The SSST Mark 1A suddenly began vibrating violently as it shot off the end of the runway, hard ground replacing the smooth concrete that it had been traversing. The craft was slowing, but Shirl knew that it was not enough that they would stop before hitting the barricades.
"Brace for impact," Bowie called out over the ship’s intercom.
Shirl leaned forward, putting her head between her legs and covering it with her hands. She kept whispering the Lord’s Prayer over and over, and hoped that the craft could take a lot more punishment than it looked like it could. Before she could think of anything else, she was slammed forward as her ears were buffeted by the screaming protests of metal being ripped apart.
"Destiny’s Paths"
They had told Roy nothing in the hour since his arrest, the lone guard overseeing him finally having put on headphones to drown out Roy’s incessant demands to know what was going on with Professor Rein. Roy had finally sat himself on the small cot of the room, silently praying that Rein would be okay. He still blamed himself for the man’s heart attack, kicking himself for not having taken the man’s age into consideration when they had thought up their plan.
Project Light had not been stopped, Rein was in Medical, and Roy was in the brig. The preacher didn’t know how things could get worse, but he was sure that there was a way. He hoped that his friends were having better luck than him, that their mission to contact the vampires of Vatican City had gone well.
Roy looked up as the door to the Detainment Center opened and two soldiers marched in. With a disgusted look on his face, the soldier on the left stepped up behind the guard and tapped him on the shoulder, the man nearly jumping a foot at the surprise. The guard ripped his headphones off and tossed them down, turning to salute the soldier that had surprised him.
"Is this how you carry out guard duty?" demanded the soldier.
"Sorry, Sir."
"Unlock the cell, the General wants to see the prisoner."
"Yes, sir!" acknowledged the guard, spinning and trotting towards the cell as he pulled his Security Card from his pocket. He swiped the card through the reader and Roy’s cell door slid open, allowing him to exit.
"How’s Professor Rein?" asked Roy, stepping up to the two soldiers.
The superior nodded and the other soldier stepped behind Roy and started putting handcuffs on him. Roy let the man do it, though he wasn’t thrilled about it, and asked again how Rein was doing.
"Listen," said the soldier, getting right in Roy’s face. "I don’t care if you are a preacher, you were attempting to commit and act of treason. You will shut the hell up. You will go with us to see the General. You will not resist in the slightest way. If you fail to follow any of those directions, I will shoot you myself."
Roy looked into the man’s eyes and he knew that the soldier ment it.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
The soldier turned and headed back towards the exit, and Roy was nudged by the other one to follow. The trio marched along in silence, the few people that they passed giving them wary glances. It was now highly evident that the atmosphere of Solution Center had changed with the take over of the base by General Brightton. The place might have secretly been under the control of vamps, but the feel had been a lot more relaxed, not so restrictive.
This was a military state, of that, there was no question.
The journey to Brightton’s office took nearly twenty minutes, traversing from one end of the complex to the other, and Roy wondered why the two soldiers hadn’t requisitioned one the tiny carts he saw whip around every now and then. When they finally got there, Roy was in no mood to be put off any longer.
"Is Rein okay?" he asked.
"Take his cuffs off," instructed the General.
"I asked you how Rein is," stated Roy, raising his voice. He rubbed his wrists lightly as the soldier final took the cuffs off of him.
"Wait out side," commanded the General, the two soldiers exiting in response. "Sit down, Mister Cameron."
Roy ignored the General’s obvious attempt to anger him and dropped down into one of the chairs positioned before the General’s desk.
"To answer your question, Professor Rein suffered a stroke, but is alive. He’s currently in ICU, and should recover…some what. It’s too early to tell, but Doctor Kimble believes that he will be unable to walk."
His shoulders sagging in defeat, Roy seemed to have lost his will to fight. He had led Rein into this, had brought about the conditions that triggered the man’s stroke, and he blamed only himself.
The General seemed to delight in Roy’s demeanor. He let the Preacher set there for a few minutes, wallowing in his self induced misery, smiling thinly the entire time. He enjoyed having total control over people, especially those that dared to even think that they could rise against what he deemed best for his country.
"Before you sink too low into your pit of self pity," spoke General Brightton, finally having his fill of watching Roy suffer. "Doctor Kimble informs me that Professor Rein’s family history is ripe with heart disease, so before you convince yourself that this is all your fault, the man was already a prime candidate for a stroke."
"And that’s suppose to make me feel better?"
"I don’t care if it does or not, Mister Cameron. I was considering you to be an asset to this base, but your recent actions have changed my mine on that. Professor Rein’s intellect can still serve us, but I’m not about to rely on you."
"What are you going to do?" asked Roy. "Keep me in the brig until you’re all finally dead."
"If you were military, I would have you executed for treason," said the General, and Roy knew he ment it. "However, you are a civilian, and a lengthy stay in our brig would only tax our supplies. I have, therefore, decided to expel you from the base."
"What? You can’t be serious."
"You will be given a basic field pack, and let loose on your own. If, and when, your friends return, I will let them decide if they want to join us or pursue you."
"That’s the same as murder, Brightton."
"You survived over a year with the vamps overrunning our world. Why should this be any different?"
Roy just stared at the man. He knew that there would be no arguing the point, the General had made up his mind and that was that. Roy didn’t think he would have a problem surviving, back out in the world, he was just fearful of what that world would become once General Brightton started lobbing nukes around to wipe out vamp nests. He had also been counting on the military’s resources to locate Bartholomew so that he could face off against the Vampire Lord. This was going to make things a lot harder. Not impossible, but a lot harder.
There was a knock at the door, a soldier stepping in after Brightton yelled out for him to enter.
"We’re ready to transport the prisoner, Sir," said the soldier.
"That won’t be necessary, Sargent," replied the General. "I want to see to this myself."
"Sir, it won’t be long until nightfall."
"I’m aware of that fact," said the General, rising from his desk. He stopped next to Roy and motioned for the preacher to come with him. "You can walk out on your own, or I can have my men cuff you and carry you out."
Roy rose reluctantly and followed the soldier out into the hall, the General right behind them. He thought of Katt along the way, and how he would more than likely never see her again. Even if they freed the world from the grasp of the vampires, Brightton would probably see him brought up on charges of war crimes once things started getting reorganized.
And what of Bill and Diane? If they chose to come after him, which he had no doubt that they would, how would they find him? He couldn’t hang around forever, the vamps would surely scent him out eventually, and then what? He had stood against several of their Masters and won, but how far could that power extend? How many could it decimate before he was finally overwhelmed?
He really didn’t want to find out.
The huge garage that was the main entrance to Solution Center held dozens of vehicles, most of them recently brought in by General Brightton’s forces, and two more soldiers were standing next to the jeep that was to take Roy from the base. In the rear of the jeep was a field pack and a rifle, the only equipment that Roy was to be given for his banishment. He figured it could have been worse, that at least they were giving him some supplies.
Brightton got behind the wheel of the jeep and started it up as Roy climbed in. Pulling up to the massive, steel and concrete doors that led out of the base, the General leaned over and slid his own ID card through the electronic lock. The doors slid open quietly, only a faint rumbling felt as they retracted into their holding slots at the sides of the walls.
Roy squinted at the daylight that flooded into the chamber, and he could tell that nightfall was not very far off indeed. The sun was just above the horizon though it quickly went out of sight as the General maneuvered the jeep down the winding road that descended through the mountains.
Having been unconscious when he first arrived here, Roy had no idea how far they had to go before the General would abandon him, but he didn’t think it would be too far. He was glad that they were a distance from Boulder, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about radiation from tomorrow’s impending test.
Several twists and turns revealed just how far up the mountain they were, and Roy was beginning to think that he would have a long hike down before reaching level ground. He hoped that there was a heavier coat in the pack for him, it would undoubtedly get very cold here at night. His musings were interrupted as the jeep suddenly veered off the road and onto rough terrain, bouncing wildly as the General followed an old trail.
"Can’t you at least leave me on the main road?" asked Roy, growing slightly concerned. "I’m just going to have to back track. What’s the point?"
The General just glared at him for a moment, turning back to concentrate on his driving. A few minutes later they rounded a bend that led into what was nothing more than a thin crevice, a steep gap in the sides of the mountain. The crevice was dark enough that the General turned on the jeep’s lights, the vehicle barely small enough to fit between the two sides.
The sides of the crevice finally began to spread apart some, not much but enough that they could turn the jeep around if they had to. The General finally brought the jeep to a halt and killed the motor. He climbed out as Roy stared at him dumbfounded, amazed that the General would leave him here.
"Get out," spoke Brightton as he stepped around to Roy’s side of the jeep. The General pulled his sidearm and pointed it Roy.
Roy shook his head in disbelief and did as he had been instructed. He turned to grab his meager supplies from the back of the jeep, and was completely unprepared for what happen next. His world suddenly exploded in pain and stars as he was struck from behind, the General slamming him in the back of the head with his gun.
Dropping to his knees, his vision blurring in and out, Roy was vaguely aware of Brightton grabbing the collar of his jacket and dragging him away from the jeep. Roy tumbled about as the General flung him around, coming to a stop on his hands and knees. He felt the cold metal of the gun press against the back of his head, and he knew that the General had no care that he was a civilian, that he was going to extract military justice after all.
"Nothing personal, preacher," said the General with a snarl. "I just don’t like people that try and screw with my plans."
Roy closed his eyes as the General pulled back the hammer of his gun.
* * * * *
A cool breeze was the first indication that Bill had that he was still alive, and he came fully away with a start. He was laying sideways, still belted to his seat though that seat had ripped from the flooring and was laying against he outer wall to the cockpit. The cockpit door was laying in front of him, smashed down by a huge metal pole that protruded from the cockpit. He unhooked the seat belt and groaned as he hit the floor, pain flaring through his left foot.
Placing a hand on the pole to help pull himself up, Bill felt something wet and withdrew his hand to see it covered with blood. Turning onto his right side, he used his arms to crawl over the smashed door and gain a view into the cockpit. The pole had shattered the front window of the plane and speared through Captain Bowie, killing him almost instantly.
He could see Shirl slumped over the controls of the craft, but he couldn’t tell if she was still alive or not. The side of the Corporal’s head was covered with blood, a small puddle having formed on the floor beneath her. There was no blood dripping now, a sign that a fair amount of time had passed, and Bill wondered if any one else was still alive but him.
A soft groan from behind him alerted Bill that Diane was still alive, and he looked about the room for her. Two other chairs had ripped from their foundations and were piled against the opposite corner, the source of the groan. Bill crawled over the door and pulled one of the chairs out of the way, the heavy piece having been at an angle that let him tip it back. He was glad that it hadn’t been laying flat, he wouldn’t have been able to move it by himself in his present condition.
"Di? DI?" he yelled, shaking her lightly.
Diane opened her eyes, one of them already black and blue, and red with blood, half of her face swollen. She groaned again, trying to set up but unable to move her legs. Her eyes grew wide with panic as she started grabbing at her legs, terrified that she had been crippled in the crash.
"I can’t move my legs?" she screamed.
"Probably because you’ve got a heavy ass seat on them," said Bill, trying to calm her.
She quit panicking when she saw that he was right, her legs moving but pinned under the bulky seat. The two of them were able to move the seat off of her legs without causing further injury, and she massaged her legs to get her circulation going again.
Other than her banged up face, she appeared to be mostly unhurt, except for a few cuts and bruises. She helped Bill to his feet, both of them hoping that he had only sprained his ankle and nothing worse. His entire foot was swollen and red, but he was able to move it about some, indicating that it had not been broken.
"You want to check on the others down below," said Bill. "I’ll check on Shirl."
"What about Captain Bowie?" asked Diane.
"He’s dead," informed Bill.
Diane nodded and headed for the door that led to the lower levels.
Limping as best he could, using a rifle as a make-shift support, Bill hobbled into the cockpit. He was thankful that Shirl was still breathing, but she was awfully pale and her breaths were coming in shallow gasps. He tired to sit her upright, but she cried out in pain, barely regaining consciousness.
"Shit, I’m sorry, Shirl," he said, trying to keep from hurting her.
"I…I…I’m hurt bad," she whispered.
"Hang on, Shirl," he pleaded. "We can contact Solution and get help here, just hold on!"
"They…they won’t…come," she said.
"They have to," he said. "Just hold on."
"No…they…" She trailed off, her eyes seeming to stare at something far away. She pointed out the window. "Almost…nightfall. Won’t…come…till…morning."
"They’ll come," asserted Bill, holding her head in his hands.
She smiled at him, knowingly, and her eyes went blank. He last breath was like a rattle, emptying from her body with no intention of returning, and she was gone.
"Shirl?"
She stared at him with empty eyes.
"SHIRL!"
Bill lowered her head back down and closed her eyes as his started burning, filling with tears for his lost friend. He hadn’t known her long, but he had liked her, and she would be missed.
"Oh, no," he heard Diane say.
Bill turned to see her standing in the doorway, only one of the flight crew members with her.
"The others are dead," said Timms, looking not too banged up himself.
"We have to find some place to hole up," said Bill. "It’s getting dark out."
"We’re going to have to climb out the window there," said Timms, pointing to the shattered front windshield of the craft. "We’re down flat, we can’t get out through the main hatch."
Bill carefully climbed up onto the wide control panel of the plane and poked his head through the shatter window. They were indeed flat on the ground, buried in dirt and sand, the smashed remains of the barricade laying scattered about after having ripped the landing gear from the craft. It would only be a drop of a few feet, but Bill wasn’t looking very forward to it with his injured ankle.
"We’ll go first," said Diane, picking up on what he was thinking. "We’ll catch you then."
A few minutes later and they were standing on solid ground, none the worse for the wear, trying to decide what to do. Their only recourse was the distant hangars, the buildings holding some supplies and radio equipment. They would be able to stay there overnight and call for help in the morning. They didn’t want to call for help right away, there was always the chance that vamps were listening in, and that would bring the creatures down on them. Besides, Timms agreed with Shirl’s assessment that help wouldn’t come until morning anyway.
The night sky had shifted from red to pink, and was slowly turning into the purple of pre-night. It would be dark before they reached the hangars, that was certain, and they picked up their pace. Diane and Timms were helping Bill as best they could, but none of them were in the best of shape after the crash and they were quickly tiring out.
"Let’s stop and rest for a minute," suggested Diane.
"No," replied Bill. "We can’t."
"This is a fairly remote area," said Timms. "I really doubt that there are any vamps close by. We should be fine."
"No," said Bill again. "We’re not fine."
"What’s wrong?" asked Diane, looking about nervously.
"Far right," answered Bill. "Along the tree line."
Diane and Timms glanced right, continuing help Bill limp along, but saw nothing. The darkness was thick amongst the trees, the sun barely a red slit in the distance, and neither of them could make out anything.
At least not at first.
Something darted from one tree to the next. Something small and white that moved very quickly.
"Was that a wolf or something?" asked Diane.
"Oh, God, no," whispered Timms as another white shape doted between the trees.
Then another, and another, and another.
There must have been at least twelve of them, white blurs that were glimpsed briefly as they passed from one thick of shadows to the next. Small and fast, it was impossible for Diane or Bill to tell what they were, but it was obvious that Timms knew. He started walking faster, almost carrying Bill along.
"What are those things?" asked Bill.
"It’s a Pack," said Timms, both answering their question and not.
"Wolves, dogs, what?" demanded Diane.
"Vampires. Infant vampires."
Diane almost stumbled, shock trying to take down her senses and close off her mind from what she had just learned. She blocked the numbing sensations out, focusing on her hatred for the vampires by remembering her husband and daughter.
"That just ain’t freaking right," said Bill, accepting it more easily than Diane. "That just ain’t freaking right!"
TO BE CONTINUED…
Look for the Complete Second Season coming soon!
9/16/2002 10:10:36 PM
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