"Jesus
Christ, Frankie," I muttered as the crowbar hit the worn marble floor with
an earsplitting clatter. So much for
stealth. We should have just ripped through the doors with explosives.
We
were breaking into the Superman Building. At 26 floors, it was the first
skyscraper ever built in downtown Providence. It lost its last tenant three
years ago, and the gorgeous art deco structure was now a towering reminder of
better days, when manufacturing was booming and people had money to burn. Years
of attempts to "revitalize" the area had fallen flat. This left plenty
of room for the underground supernatural factions to sweep in and take over.
Frankie
flashed a fangy grin at me. "What's the fun in surprising them? It's never
a good time unless it all goes off the rails."
I
shook my head and sighed. Ever since Frankie was charmed by a demon to walk in
the sunlight, he thought he was invincible. And, sure, being a vampire helped,
but he could be staked just as easy as any other vamp. His arrogance could get
us both killed.
We
walked swiftly through the lobby of the abandoned high rise, keeping tight to
the walls. In our all-black commando outfits, we blended easily into the dark
hallway.
I
stole a wistful look at the bank of elevators. The electricity was cut to the
building. We'd be taking the stairs. "Want to guess what floor they're
on?"
"I
say top floor," Frankie said with his hand already on the door to the
stairwell.
It
was going to be a long-ass climb. Up the 26 stories and possibly a few extra
flights to get to the tippy top of the building's airship docking station.
Seriously. The very top floor of the building was built for docking blimp-like
airships, so there was a pretty cool waiting area/corporate suite turned
Depression-era speakeasy at the apex. Too bad we were seeing it under these
circumstances.
About
a week ago, a suspicious news report piqued our interest. A group of crazed
individuals were caught rampaging through downtown, tossing cars with
superhuman strength, punching through brick walls and causing general weird
mayhem. A few witnesses described them with blood around their mouths.
Max,
our newest Blood Ops member serving as double agent in the FBI, was on record
as calling this a "bath salt related incident." It was simple to
blame this behavior on meth-heads on a DIY bender. But we knew better. They
were vampires, and they were out of control. Frankie and I were dispatched to
take care of them.
We
climbed the stairs quickly, Frankie almost a floor ahead of me as we ascended.
My calves ached by the 17th floor, and I was dripping with sweat. The vamps
would be able to smell me by floor 22 if they were paying attention. Since I am half vampire, I can handle a fair
amount of physical exertion. But a swift walk up the stairs of a high-rise
carrying an extra 35 pounds of vampire-fighting gear was punishing. Pushing
through the cramps in my legs, I silently vowed to increase my workouts. It was
hard enough to match Frankie's speed and strength, but now that he thought he
was the Man of Steel, it was damn near impossible just to catch up to him.
We hit
the top, and I finally had a chance to catch my breath. Frankie smirked at my
all-too-human physical stamina.
When
my heart stopped racing, I double-fisted a pair of stakes and nodded at
Frankie. He kicked the door open and we launched into the penthouse. Moonlight
poured through the grime-coated glass ceiling.
We
rushed in like hellfire, expecting to find ourselves in the middle of a melee.
But the room appeared empty.
"Top
floor, Frankie? Really?" I grumbled, re-sheathing my stakes. "How
much you want to bet they're on two?"
Frankie
raised his arm and shushed me. I shot him a dirty look, but quickly softened it
when I heard the hushed groans too.
I
motioned to Frankie to move towards the sounds, and we cautiously walked to the
back of the room. A shape was huddled in a dark corner with two bodies laid out
on the floor in front of it. I pulled a mag light out from one of my cargo
pants pockets and trained it on the shadowy forms.
A
female vampire inched away from the light. Blood was smeared down her face and
neck, and it covered her chest. Two male vampires were on the floor, their
fronts washed in red as well. The walls were covered in sticky, black-red
blood. The entire room was just dripping. It looked like a blood bank exploded.
The
vampires on the floor were truly dead, their pale faces cracked like antique
porcelain dolls. Their appendages were just starting to decompose, but their
midsections were blown out, like they swallowed a bomb and it exploded. The one
still living, for lack of a better word, looked close to meeting true death
herself. The emaciated vampire half-sobbed, half-moaned as she rocked back and
forth.
Although
they matched the descriptions of the vamps-gone-wild group, these couldn't be
our marauders. They were simply too sick. They looked like junkies who
overdosed. A few times.
"What
do we do?" I had never seen anything like this before. I sure as hell
hoped Frankie would know how to handle this mess.
Frankie
walked a wide semicircle around the vampires, his shoes making sucking noises
as he lifted them off the sticky, blood-soaked floor. He was worried, clearly
on guard.
"What's
your name?" he asked.
"Kate,"
she croaked out.
"Right,
Kate," Frankie's voice was soothing. "How long have your friends been
like this?"
"Since
yesterday." Her hoarse voice was barely above a whisper. "We slept in
the stairwell but they came in here last night and just...." She motioned
at the carnage around her and let out a muffled sob.
"So
you were able to walk back and forth to the stairwell? Can you do it now?"
I asked.
She
tried pulling herself up, but wasn't strong enough to handle the weight of her
tiny body. So she crawled towards us, plowing over the disintegrating corpses.
"Stop,
Kate! Stay right there!" Frankie visibly jumped back, his shoes making a
sharp thwack as they lifted off the gummy floor. "Nina, you need to call
Max and Dr. O. Max needs to get the electricity back on to this building. She's
going to need to go out the elevator, and Dr. O needs to bring her down."
"Why
are we taking her out of the building?" I asked. Our mission was to kill
them. Two were dead, and the last one was nearly there. Mission almost
complete.
"Because
they are Beta-Vamps." Frankie glanced at the vamp on the floor.
"Right?"
She
nodded, tears streaming down her face.
"No
way," I protested. "Betas don't rampage like that."
"They
do if they are sick," Frankie explained calmly, his eyes still on Kate.
Beta-Vamps
were like the hippies of the vampire world. They were vampires that were missing
the predator genome sequence. They weren't human killers. They survived on who
knows what. Maybe animal blood. Maybe blood stolen from hospitals. In some
extreme cases, they ate rust for the iron content. Betas were rare, and,
because of their peace-loving nature, extremely vulnerable to attack from all
sorts of supernatural factions.
"So
why don't we just carry her down?" I said with a shrug, stepping towards
Kate, breaking my boots' suction to the floor.
Frankie
was in front of me before I could take another step. My stomach rolled as
Frankie dropped his guard and a wave of his panic washed over me.
A few
months ago, Frankie had to bind me to him to save my life. For the most part,
we're dealing with it just fine. But if he's in emo overdrive and forgets to
close off our connection, I get hit with whatever he's feeling. It also works
the same in the other direction.
"Don't
go near her. She's been infected."
"Infected?
With what? Beta-Vamps aren't vulnerable to infections."
"With..."
Frankie stopped. He looked shattered. "My God, I haven't seen this since
1877."
"What
is it?" I pushed.
"Opium
poisoning."
"Did
you just say opium?"
"Blood-born
opium poison. If it gets into our bodies, we die." Frankie was visibly
nervous, moving in a jittery semicircle around the woman. "We can't go
near her."
"Oh.
Shit. Does Dr. O know what to do?" I shrunk back. Opium. Who knew?
Apparently Frankie. That explained why vampires were always told not to get
their fix from heavy drug users.
"I'm
not sure. That's why you need to call him. And he'll need Max since we really
shouldn't stay here. Now please. She doesn't have much time."
Right.
I pulled out my phone. I'd start with Max. He'd need time to power up the
building anyway.
He
answered on the sixth ring.
He
sounded groggy. "What's up?"
"Sorry
to wake you but we're at the Superman Building with two seriously dead vamps
and one who is really sick. We need to turn on the power to get her out of here
with the elevator. Can you get this building back on the grid?"
"Christ,
can't one of you just carry her down the stairs?" His voice was muffled,
like he was pressing his face into his pillow.
"Frankie
and I can't touch her. She has some sort of infection, something that only
vampires can contract. And it kills them."
"Really?"
He jolted awake. I heard the bed sheets rustle as he got up.
"I
don't know, really. I've never heard of this before. But I know Frankie is
freaking out, and said we need to get her out of here. And he only freaks out
if there's a damn good reason."
"You
know I worked for the FBI all day, right?" he groused. I heard a closet
door slam.
"Seriously?
Are you going to do this right now?"
"You
both were going up there to stake them anyway. So they die of something else.
It's the same outcome. Why save her?"
"Because,
she's not a predator vampire."
"What
the hell are you talking about?"
"Look,
I'll explain later, but we are running out of time. I need to get Dr. O here,
and you need to get the electricity on at this place."
"Jesus,
you people are complicated. I'll be there in 20." He hung up before I
could respond.
Like
Frankie, Max had made a deal with resident demon and Providence mayor Ami
Bertrand. As a result, Bertrand had turned Max into a Berserker, a supernatural
warrior that went extinct with the Vikings. Well, extinct up until Bertrand's
curse.
Since
Max had been turned into a supernatural entity, but one that was supposed to be
extinct, he joined our team as a double agent with the FBI. Our team is Blood
Ops, an elite government agency that deals with rogue supernatural factions.
Technically, we also don't exist. To humans, anyway. Our existence — hell, the
very existence of anything supernatural — was on a "need to know"
basis, and even the president of the United States didn't need to know. Only a
very select few Department of Defense members knew about Blood Ops. That's
plausible deniability for you.
But
damn, the Berserker in Max sure made him grumpy.
I hit
the speed dial button for Dr. O. Dr. Lachlan O'Malley led our unit of Blood
Ops. Though he mostly resembled your favorite 60-something college professor,
Dr. O was a Druid priest, which made him pretty damn old. And, like the Druid
priests before him, he knew absolutely everything.
"Nina,
what's wrong?" Dr. O asked in his thick brogue. I could tell I woke him
up.
"Sorry
Doc, but we have a problem here. We have Beta-Vamps that ingested opium. Two
are dead — like for real, seriously dead. One is barely hanging on."
"Opium?
Are you sure?" Dr. O sounded a lot more awake suddenly.
"Frankie
says he's sure. Said he hasn't seen this since 18-something or other."
"Frankie
would know. Do you have her quarantined?"
"Quarantined?
Frankie said not to touch her. He didn't say anything about a quarantine."
This was weird.
"You
are in the same room with her?"
"Where
else would we be?" I asked, impatience getting the best of me.
"If
any of their blood gets into your blood stream, or Frankie's, that would be
very bad."
"Yeah,
Frankie already explained that to me. We aren't touching her.
"Nina,
I am afraid it's much more serious than that. Opium poisoning tends to make
infected vampires projectile vomit out blood before they die. Then their torso
explodes."
That
sounded bad. And gross.
"When?
When would that happen?" I gripped the phone tightly, eyeballing Kate. She
whimpered in the corner near the vampire bodies with her back against the wall.
"It
could happen at any time. Lock her in wherever you are, and wait until I get
there. Do not wait in the room with her, neither you nor Frankie. Do you
understand?" Dr. O's tone was stern.
"Yes,
I got it. Okay, we are on the top floor. Max is on his way to power up the
building to get her out of here. Just get here fast."
"I
am on my way."
The
phone went dead. I hightailed it over to Frankie, who was staring helplessly at
Kate.
"Frankie,
we gotta get out of here." I pulled gently on his arm.
"Please
don't leave me." Kate's voice was so weak, I could barely hear her
whisper.
Frankie
didn't move. He just looked sadly at the sick Beta, his eyes filled with tears.
"Come
on, Frankie." I nudged him again. "We can't be in here right now. Dr.
O's on his way."
He
hesitated. "We can't leave her like this."
"We
aren't going to do her any good if we get sick, too," I reasoned.
He
ignored me. I changed tactics.
"Stop
being a stubborn ass," I raised my voice. He still ignored me.
Kate
moaned and fell into a fetal position. She began to convulse. Frankie made a
move towards her, but I grabbed him. Standing in front of him, I took him by
both shoulders and stared into his eyes.
"We
need to get out of here before she barfs blood all over us. Don't make me go
witchy on you."
It
was an idle threat. Only a few weeks before, I first learned that I am
half-witch as well. My witch abilities were dormant for years — hidden by my
vampire genetics — until an unfortunate encounter with a spelled knife turned
on the hocus-pocus. I was working with my witch mentor, who's also my aunt, on
controlling my newfound abilities. Much to Auntie Babe's frustration, I was not
taking to it like a fish to water. If I tried to unleash my mojo in here, poor
Kate could very well blow up, taking Frankie and me along with her.
Kate's
moaning was now punctuated by high-pitched cries of pain. Clearly in agony, she
writhed on the floor. Her hands formed into claws, and she scratched at the
body of the seriously dead vampire closest to her. His skin tore like dried
papier-mâché as she drove her nails into his corpse. As she tore at his flesh,
blood bubbled out of her mouth.
"She
not going to make it!" I shouted at Frankie, pushing on his lanky six-foot
frame. "And neither are we if we don't get out of here!"
I
shoved Frankie harder towards the door. He finally snapped out of his stupor
and we fled to across the room to the stairwell door. I pushed on it, but it
didn't budge. Shaking the handle, I pressed all my weight against it. Nothing.
I moved aside and Frankie levered a kick at the door. He succeeded in denting
the door, jamming it even harder into the frame.
"Crap,
Frankie! There's no time!" I yelled over Kate's ear-piercing shrieks.
Frankie
looked wildly around. "Can we break the windows?"
Everything
was soaked in blood. Blood we couldn't touch. Crap. I had no choice.
"Hold
on!" I closed my eyes tightly and I tried to clear my thoughts, but
between Kate's shrieks and Frankie's desperation creeping into my head, not to
mention my own stress, my mind was too unfocused to do this right. Oh well.
Close enough was going to have to do.
I
felt the air shift around me, and I latched onto this small breeze, willing it
to grow to hurricane strength. My hair loosed from its ponytail and slapped
across my face. The swelling wind pushed me forward. Grabbing Frankie's hand
for stability, I cried out the few words of Latin I could come up with that
approximated "break the damn glass." The five plate glass windows on
the south side of the room shook. I repeated the words louder, putting more
force behind them. The wind turned hurricane strength, pushing us across the
room, dangerously closer to Kate. Finally, the windows shattered one by one,
shards of glass falling 26 stories to the sidewalk.
I
opened my eyes. Kate was about to explode. Blood frothed around her lips, her
shrieks now muffled as the blood worked its way up her throat.
Hands
still clutched, Frankie and I nodded at each other, knowing exactly what we had
to do. Together, we ran straight for the windows, and leapt feet first into the
star-filled sky.
Frankie's
hand slipped out of mine as we both twisted our bodies and made a grasp for the
ledge. I caught it, just barely, almost wrenching my shoulder out of its socket
on the impact. Frankie similarly stopped short next me. We dangled 26 stories
over downtown Providence.
Pamela DuMond is the author who discovered Erin Brockovich’s life story, thought it would make a great movie and pitched it to ‘Hollywood’.
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