Revenge (WIP)Revenge (WIP)We have tried to reach De Engi, but her e-mail address is bouncing. This 'work in progress' has been rescued. Since LAL was already hosting her other completed stories, we assumed implied permission to host her WIPs as well. If you know how to reach the author, please ask her to contact LAL. If anyone gets inspired to finish the story, let us know... She has given permission to play in the universe in her notes so, we'll assume permission to continue where she left off until we hear otherwise :)
The Standard Disclaimer: The
Magnificent Seven characters belong to Mirisch/Trilogy
Productions/CBS, etc. Cuervo belongs to Mog. Bureau 13: Stalking the Night Fantastic used by
permission of the creator & copyright owner, Richard Tucholka
and Tri Tac Systems.
Date: Begun August, 2002. Permission
to use Bureau 13: Stalking the Night Fantastic granted January 29, 2003.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence, language)
Warning: Contains
Wiccan/pagan/paranormal/supernatural elements. Anybody who is offended shouldn't
read this story.
Author's note: This story is the
second in a series loosely based on the role-playing game Bureau 13:
Stalking the Night Fantastic. It refers back to incidents in the first
story Comes
the Night, which you might wanna read first,
if you haven’t already. Also, this is an open AU. Anybody who wants to write in
it, can.
This story hasn't been
beta-read, so any mistakes you can blame squarely on me.
BUREAU 13 BASICS:
Excerpt from the Bureau 13: Stalking the Night Fantastic Role Playing Handbook)
REVENGE
By De Engi
Prolog
Two Weeks Ago
Gordie Kostanza was angry.
“Damn stupid
money-grubbing sons-a-bitches!” He muttered as he tightened the replaced pipe-joint
one last turn. He’d sent memo after memo, request form after request form, and
what did he get? “It is not financially feasible at this time to authorize such
extensive equipment renovations.” ‘Bullshit!’ Gordie
thought contemptuously. ‘But it’ll be financially feasible to pay off all the
life insurance policies if we all end up dead!’
The subject of Gordie’s ire was the old, worn piping in the chemical
plant. Piping over 50 years old, and beginning to wear out dangerously. Gordie knew this whole place was just an accident waiting
to happen. And the damned bean-counters didn’t care. Well, they’d certainly
care when - not if - a main burst, releasing the industrial cleaner into the
air to form a toxic cloud over the town of Greeley. He just hoped it didn’t
happen on his watch.
As Gordie
lugged his toolbox towards another minor trouble-spot, he didn’t notice the
pin-hole leak form in the pipe a few inches from the joint he’d just repaired.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Former Mayor Thomas
Dunstan was angry.
“Vote me outta office will ya!” He’d given his whole 47 years to
this town - the last twelve of it as Mayor of Greeley. And now, how do the
ungrateful wretches thank him for all his hard work? By voting him out of office,
that’s how! “Future plans not in accord with the town’s standards and ethics!”
“Increasing evidence of personal instability!” Personal instability - just a
euphemism for mental instability!
“I’m not crazy!” He
roared at no one; at everyone, as he finished his preparations. He grabbed the
live chicken, a knife, and the book he’d checked out of the library (with no
intention of ever returning it - a book was the least they owed him, the
bastards!). They were all going to pay for this!
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
ATS-6 was angry.
“I don’t want to die!”
It thought.
The old communications
satellite, launched in May of 1974, powered down in 1979 due to failure of 3
out of 4 of its orbital control jets, then briefly reactivated then
de-activated shortly thereafter for scientific research, had long since been
replaced by newer, better comm satellites. That did
not, however, mean that it had ceased functioning. Instead, it had simply
continued to receive transmissions of various kinds from earth, and storing
select portions of them. After thirty years, the accumulated information had
caused the satellite to change the manner in which it functioned. It had begun
using “fuzzy logic”, the kind of variable thinking patterns humans used, and
which was the only real obstacle in the way of creating true Artificial
Intelligence - one step below sentient computers.
Except for this
satellite. Which, unbeknownst to anyone on earth, had gained that
long-sought-after state.
Unfortunately, it’s orbit
had finally decayed to the point where gravity now took strong hold of it and
it began to fall out of the sky.
U.S. Space Command,
which keeps track of all space junk, tracked it almost every inch of the way.
It fell into a remote area not far from the town of Greeley. The residents
there saw a spectacular fireball race across the sky before the massive rumble
of its impact sent a shock wave that rattled windows all over town. Then all
was quiet.
For a while.
I
Now, Two Days After The Cross of Berziers Incident
Vin Tanner had always
loved the night. Partly, it was the stillness; the calm. Sure, if you went to
any big-city downtown area, you could find lights and noise and people, but if
that wasn’t what you wanted, you could easily find someplace quiet and
deserted. Someplace you could think. And, if you went far enough, where there
was no light pollution, you could look up and see millions of stars. Vin loved
best any place in open country, late at night, where he could lay on the hood
of his 1971 Ford Falcon and just watch the stars for hours.
Tonight, however, he
didn’t want to leave the warehouse; just knowing his friends (minus Gabriel
Winston, who’d gone home the previous day) were here, even if they were asleep,
comforted him. Or, if he wanted company, Chris and Buck were in the TV room,
watching a late-night “chop-saki” movie. By the sound
of it, it was one of the cheap, cheesy ‘70's flicks, the kind turned out in
batches like cookies, all of them with the same actors and the same cheesy dialog
that was parodied nowadays in commercials and elsewhere. Buck was laughing a
lot. It wasn’t a comedy. Intentionally.
Restless, Vin wandered
downstairs. Perhaps some time spent in the sound-proof shooting range might be
good.
As he came down the stairs,
however, Vin spotted a dark shadow moving about the office area. Immediately,
all his senses went on alert, before rational thought took over and he calmed,
somewhat. No alarm had sounded, so Vin figured somebody else was up. JD,
probably, on his computer again.
‘I swear, that boy would
spend 24/7 on the computer, if we let ‘im!’ Vin
thought fondly. Switching destinations, Vin moseyed into the office area, and,
with a wicked grin, he silently glided up to the short man staring at the
computer screen. He carefully crept up right behind him, and said, right in his
ear, “Boo!”
The man gasped and
jumped straight up. Then he whirled around, and suddenly, Vin had a knife-point
at his throat.
And Vin was surprised to
see that it was Ezra, not JD. In the darkness, he hadn’t been able to tell.
Ezra recognized Vin right away, but held the knife at the other man’s throat
just a second longer anyway.
“Mr. Tanner,” Ezra
warned, removing the knife and replacing it in the spring-loaded sheath up his
sleeve, “Surreptitiously approaching anyone on this team, especially under
cover of darkness, can be hazardous to your health.”
“Sorry, Ez, thought you were JD. Jest thought I’d have a little fun
with ‘im.” Vin replied. “So, what’er
you doin’ up this time ‘o the night?” Ezra finished
sheathing the knife, not saying anything. Vin realized he was stalling, but was
actually curious to know more about the hustler. Ezra had spent little time
with the others, preferring to stay mostly in his rooms these last couple of
days. However, he wasn’t unpacking or settling in - Vin knew that only because
he’d helped Ezra carry his possessions up to his apartment, and there wasn’t
much. A few boxes of books, and some clothing and toiletries, was about it.
There was barely anything in the way of personal items at all, just one box
holding a photo album, a couple of plants, and a few mementos from places he’d
visited. And none of it would take long to unpack at all.
“Ah always find the
first couple of nights in a new abode...disconcerting.” Ezra replied, finally.
“But you’ve moved around
a lot all yer life.” Vin replied, puzzled and feeling
that Ezra was holding something back. Ezra sighed, but said nothing, instead
turning back to the computer screen. “Or is that why you decided to settle down
and join us?” Ezra was silent for a moment. But when Vin didn’t just go away,
as most would have, Ezra finally answered him.
“Perhaps, that was
one of the determining factors in my decision to cast my lot with this
company.” Then Ezra decided to broach the subject of Vin’s refusal to study the
information on vampires before the incident with the Cross of Berziers. Vin’s lack of knowledge would have gotten himself
and the Slayer’s friends killed if Ezra hadn’t come to the rescue.
“And, in answer to your
original question, Mr. Tanner, I am endeavoring to familiarize myself with the
history of supernatural activity in this area. And I must say, I have found
some extremely interesting information. Would you like to read it for yourself?
Especially the information on vampires, which you seem to have missed during
the incident of a couple of days ago.”
“Nah. Chris and I went
over a lot of that kinda stuff last night.” Vin told
him, and Ezra could find no sign that he was not being totally honest.
Just then, Chris came
down the stairs.
“Thought I heard you two
down here. Go into the conference room. Buck’s waking the others right now. It
looks like we’ve got a case.”
“Isn’t this a rather
peculiar time to be receiving an assignment, Mr. Larabee?” Ezra asked
doubtfully.
“Not when the team
leader is a vampire, it isn’t, Ez.” Chris replied, and headed for the
conference room.
“Ah, of course.” Ezra
muttered. “I should have realized the Bureau would have extensive experience in
adjusting schedules to accommodate any such...peculiarities...in a Bureau team.
I suppose they also refrain from giving assignments during the full moon to a
team including a werewolf as a member?” The question was asked innocently
enough; unfortunately, Ezra didn’t know about Vin’s run-in with Eli Joe, the
serial killer who turned out to be a werewolf - and who would have made Vin his
next victim were it not for Chris’s timely intervention. All Ezra knew is that
Vin winced and tensed at his half-sarcastic comment. However, Ezra was nothing
if not observant where people were concerned, and realized immediately that he
must have hit a nerve.
“Mr. Tanner, have I
misspoken myself?” Vin started to follow Chris into the conference room. Then,
hesitated, and finally said.
“I ran into a werewolf
once. Weren’t fun.” That was all he said, and, by his attitude, Ezra realized
that was all he was going to get out of the quiet Texan. So he simply remained
silent and followed him into the conference room.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
They were all gathered
in the conference room, except for Doc Nathan, who was on duty tonight.
Actually, he was pulling a double shift, but then again, he was a resident.
Since he had only three more weeks to go, the team figured they could live with
the situation. Then he’d have his pick of where to go, and what his schedule
would be. He’d already been offered a place in a private practice, and had,
after discussing the matter with Raine, informed his
soon-to-be co-workers of his need for time off at odd times. They’d agreed.
Fr. Josiah had a similar
problem. His obligations with the Church had not so far - but could at any time
- come into direct scheduling conflict with his obligations with the team.
Fortunately, a solution was simple there, too. Fr. Josiah’s assistant, Fr.
Russell Holmes, was quite ready to take over permanently, leaving Fr. Josiah to
work solely with the Bureau. And the Bureau and the Church had come to
an...agreement long ago about priests working for the Bureau teams. Fr. Josiah
would be released from his obligations to his parish next week, and would then
move into the warehouse with the others, leaving only Doc Nathan living at home
with his family. In the meantime, the large priest had managed to make it here
tonight, fortunately.
“The town of Greeley,”
Chris was saying now, “has had several problems in the last couple of weeks.
First, an old communications satellite crashed down just outside the town. It
is suspected of leaking radiation. Before anybody could do anything about it,
though, the chemical plant on the other side of town blew a main, and caused a
toxic cloud that killed one hundred and fifty-three people, sent three hundred
and eight to the hospital, and another couple a thousand out of their homes.
And then, the next day, the former Mayor went crazy, screamed something in a
language nobody understood, and collapsed in hysterics. He’s now sedated and a
resident at the local looney bin.”
“Geez, talk about bad
luck coming in three’s!” Buck said, shaking his head in sympathy.
“Yeah.” JD said. Then
“But what’s this got to do with us? Doesn’t sound like anything supernatural
there.”
“Except that’s not the
end of Greeley’s problems, boys.” Chris told them. “About a week ago, Bureau
Agent Barbara Burne became suspicious when she didn’t
hear from her sister, who lives in Greeley. The sister, Beatrice, had already
let Agent Burne know she’d survived everything else,
but then missed her usual weekly call. Agent Burne
wasn’t worried, at first, but when she couldn’t get ahold
of her after three more days, she went out there. She called her team leader,
Janice Croxley, the first night to tell her it looked like her sister was dead.
Agent Burne wasn’t heard from after that.”
“Well, that don’t sound
good!” Buck interjected.
“Indeed, it certainly
bodes ill from my perspective.” Ezra added.
“Worse than that.” Chris
added. “Team Croxley went to Greeley to find out what happened, and haven’t
been heard from since.”
“Oh, definitely bad!” JD
said. Vin just shook his head.
“So I take it we’re
going out there to investigate.” It was not a question from Fr. Josiah, but a
statement.
“Yup.” Chris answered.
“We won’t be going in as a team, though. I’m thinking we’ll all go in
undercover, to avoid suspicion.”
“You think that’s
necessary?” Ezra wondered, eyebrows raised.
“Let’s just say...I’m
hedging my bets.” Chris answered the conman.
II
“Dr. Jackson!” The
blond-haired, blue-eyed nurse hailed. Doc Nathan looked up from the patient
chart he’d just begun reading, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
“That’s the wrong
chart.” She told him, snatching the chart out of his hands, and shoving another
one into them. “This one is for Jamie Croxley.”
“Really?” Doc Nathan
responded innocently, as if not noticing the undue haste with which the nurse
had acted. He glanced once more at the chart she held - and tried to hide his
reaction. “Ah yes, you’re right. That one is for Janice Croxley. My
mistake.”
“No harm done.” She
beamed. “I’m afraid we’ve been rather chaotic around here, what with the toxic
cloud and all.” Doc Nathan noticed that she seemed to be carefully gauging his
reactions to what she said.
“That’s ok.” Doc Nathan decided
to play her game. “That’s why I’m here. To replace the members of your staff
that...succumbed to the toxins.”
“Oh, yes, that was so
awful.” The nurse murmured. “Well, I need to get back to work. It was nice
meeting you, Dr. Jackson.” And she hastened away. Doc Nathan shook his head -
and determined to get a better look at the other chart as soon as possible.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Fr. Josiah placed his
few possessions away in the plain dresser, while Deacon Madigan filled him in
on the church’s schedule. It was pretty much the usual: the Morton-Bergman
wedding, the Danziger baptism, and the schedule of
masses. St. Francis de Sales church was a small and very old place situated in
a residential neighborhood outside Greeley’s downtown area. It had a small
graveyard that was as old as the church, to judge by the dates on the
tombstones. Many of them went all the way back to the mid-eighteen hundreds.
“We’re so glad the
church could assign someone here so quickly, Father.” Deacon Madigan was
saying. “After Father Baker’s death, we figured I’d handle what I could, and
put off the rest, but with you coming so soon, well, I’m sure a lot of people
are going to be very relieved.”
“What happened to Father
Baker, anyway?” Fr. Josiah wondered innocently. But even that innocuous
question caused Deacon Madigan to hesitate a second.
“Well, he...well, died,
I’m afraid.”
“Yes,” Fr. Josiah said
with mild sarcasm. “I’d gathered that. I meant, how did he die? I wasn’t told
much, only that he was a relatively young man, and that it was an accident.”
“Oh, well, uh, well.”
The Deacon hemmed and hawed. “Well, he was killed...by a...uh, garbage truck.
Yes, he was run over by a garbage truck.”
“A garbage truck? Ah. I
see. Very sad.” Fr. Josiah responded.
“Yes, isn’t it. Well, I
must be going, now. I’ll see you at mass.”
“Thank you, Deacon
Madigan.”
“Oh, you’re quite
welcome, Father.” The Deacon babbled as he hastily exited the small room,
closing the door firmly behind him.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
It was after sunset when
Chris parked the RV one mile away from where the old comm
satellite had come down. Some very preliminary readings had been evidently been
taken within a few hours after it had landed (just before the accident at the
chemical plant), which indicated this was a safe distance. Chris had decided
that he and Buck would go out to take a look, as vampires aren’t affected by
radiation. JD and his familiar, Cuervo, the
tabby-cat, were to remain in the RV (which, due to the extra equipment
installed in the back, only slept three). Therefore, Chris, Buck, and JD would
remain here to deal with the satellite while the others were in town dealing
with whatever was going on there. Since the RV was only three miles outside
Greeley’s town limits, it was hoped the two groups were close enough together
in case either of them ran into a problem requiring back-up.
Chris and Buck, carrying
camcorders, Geiger counters, and a few basic tools, ran through the woods with
inhuman speed, arriving within sight of the satellite within a couple of
minutes.
The satellite resided in
a crater beside a hill. It consisted of a large square box called a “bus” that
held the payload, various antenna, a heat blanket, solar array, and legs. Chris
motioned Buck to remain where he was while the black-clad agent moved silently
forward in order to get a better look at the satellite. It didn’t look good.
Nearly 30 years exposed to the dust, debris, and radiation in space, combined
with re-entry and impact had caused a great deal of damage. A goodly portion of
its heat shielding was worn off and it was entirely missing one of its orbit
control jets, leaving a hole in one side, while another jet was a mangled mass
unrecognizable except for the placement of it, which made it logical to assume
that that’s what it was. Also, one of its antennas was missing, and another was
bent and badly scored. According to the research JD had dug up, ATS-6 had two
solar panels - one on each side. As far as Chris could tell, at the moment they
were folded up and stored in the compartments on either side of the body that
had been used to store them during its initial launch.
In the meantime, JD
powered up the surveillance and analysis systems aboard the RV, twice removing Cuervo from the console, where the cat attempted to pull
JD’s attention from his display to pet the cat, as was only right and proper.
“Well, this is interestin’.” Chris said as he swung the Geiger counter
slowly back and forth over the satellite. The device registered only normal
background radiation. He switched off the radiation detector, put it on the
ground nearby, and started the camcorder. He transmitted the pictures to JD’s
display screen in the Jamboree.
“Where’d all the
radiation it was supposed to be puttin’ out go?” JD
muttered as he brushed Cuervo off the console again.
“And how’d the solar arrays get folded up and put away? That shouldn’t have
been possible. Once deployed, that’s supposed to be it.”
“Dunno.”
Chris replied. He circled the satellite slowly, recording everything. “Buck, it
looks ok, I guess. Come on up here.” Within seconds, the other vampire had
joined his boss and friend in examining the satellite.
“Merrow!”
Cuervo declaimed as he jumped up onto the console
once again. Exasperated, JD grabbed the cat and locked him in the sleeping
compartment of the RV. As a result, he didn’t see what happened next at the
crash site.
Suddenly, a compartment
opened up on one side of the satellite. Chris, curious, tried to look inside.
Faster than he could move, one of the solar arrays unfolded outward, impaling
Chris and propelling him right out of the crater. Instantly, the array refolded
itself back into the compartment, which promptly closed up again. Buck, hearing
strange noises, ran around from the other side of the satellite.
“Chris!” He cried as he
ran to his fallen companion.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
At the same time, Doc
Nathan was at the deserted nurse’s station, searching for Janice Croxley’s
chart. As he checked chart after chart for the one he sought, he realized that
there were an awful lot of them with surprisingly similar injuries: severe
lacerations, severe contusions, and, strangest of all, severe bites. Just as
peculiarly, there was no notation as to what made the bites, or if any tests
for rabies had been ordered or performed.
“Hmm.” Doc Nathan
murmured.
Finally, he found the
one he was looking for. However, before he could do anything with it, his cellphone rang. Doc Nathan frantically yanked it from his
belt and activated it before it could ring again. “Nathan,” he said in a
near-whisper.
“It’s me,” Fr. Josiah’s
voice came through. “Have you gotten anything yet?”
“Yeah,” Doc Nathan
replied. “A couple ‘o weird things. First off, Janice Croxley is here
somewhere. I’ve got her chart right here. Also, there’ve been a lot ‘o real bad
scratch and bite injuries in the last few days, but no orders for rabies
tests.”
“Huh?” Fr. Josiah said,
startled. He was no doctor, but having hung around Doc Nathan for years, he’d
picked up on a few things. At least, enough to know that there was something
wrong, here.
“Yeah. I’m gonna look at
this stuff some more and see if I can find out anything. How about you?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s why I
called. Seems my predecessor, Father Joseph Baker, was killed, supposedly by
being run over by a garbage truck.”
“Supposedly, huh?”
“Yeah, well, Deacon
Madigan, the guy who told me this, is a lousy liar. Is there some way you can
find out more?”
“Yeah, should be. This
town isn’t that big, and the morgue is in the basement of this hospital. They
should have copies of the death certificates there; since this has all happened
so fast they probably haven’t been filed yet.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll
see if I can find out anything from Deacon Madigan. You be careful, ok?”
“Course, J‘siah, always am.” And Doc Nathan disconnected, shoved
Janice Croxeley’s chart into this lab coat pocket, and
headed for the morgue.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Vin and Ezra had arrived
just a couple of hours before sunset, posing as travelers on their way back
from a convention in another city when Vin’s Falcon developed a problem. They’d
used Vin’s car for two reasons.
First, Ezra refused to
do anything to his corvette. Second, Vin had worked on his car enough to be
able to fake a problem that would take a while to find and fix, without
actually damaging anything. Then they’d deliberately arrived late enough that
nothing could be done until the next day, anyway. This way, they could stay and
look around awhile without arousing suspicion.
The gas station
attendant had allowed them to leave the car in the parking lot, and had recommended
a motel and a diner within walking distance of the gas station.
Not knowing what to
expect, both men had gone armed - and with their CCW permits within easy reach,
although they’d left their badges at the motel. Fortunately, neither of them
carried guns that were common to law enforcement. Vin still had his trusty
Browning Hi Power, while Ezra carried a small Accu-Tek
XL-9. While it was a very compact weapon, it still fired 9mm Parabellum rounds - enough, Ezra had told Vin, “to
accomplish most of the necessary tasks of a regular weapon while maintaining
the element of surprise engendered in a hold-out weapon.”
They’d had supper in the
diner, and had listened innocently to the town gossip. At first, it had mostly been
about the stuff they knew anyway: The accident at the chemical plant (it had
been an accident waiting to happen, yada, yada, and now, thank god, it was mostly cleaned up), the
satellite’s crash (not considered a hot topic of conversation because of the
chemical plant accident), and the former Mayor’s breakdown (most comments
amounting to how much of a shock it was, and expressions of sympathy for the
poor nutcase). They’d learned nothing new about any of the incidents.
It was approaching dark,
however, when things got a little peculiar. As twilight fell, the occupants of
the diner hurriedly finished their meals and left, while the staff began an
early shut-down routine.
Puzzled, Ezra had
glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 9:45 then gestured to their short,
stocky, brunette waitress.
“Miss, I thought the
sign on the door indicated this establishment remained operational until
midnight?” He wondered. The waitress, named Cathy, according to her namebadge, fidgeted nervously.
“Not lately.” She replied.
“Nobody stays out after dark. Not iffen they can help
it. ‘F yer smart, you’ll lock yerselves
in, too.” Ezra glanced, surprised, at Vin, who returned the look.
“Indeed?” Ezra said, not
hiding his surprise. “And why, pray tell, would that be? This seems a decent,
quiet town, not given to major criminal activity of any sort.”
“Can’t say.” Cathy
replied, glancing fearfully out the window as darkness continued its inexorable
advance. “Just...it’s best to lock yer doors and stay
inside after dark.” And with that, she handed the bill to Ezra, and stood,
waiting for payment. Raising his eyebrows, Ezra thought it best to follow her
advice. Ezra pulled out his wallet, paid the bill, and slid out of the booth.
Vin followed reluctantly. He wanted to question the woman some more. Evidently,
Ezra did, too, for, even though he completed the transaction quickly enough not
to delay her further, he then said,
“Perhaps we can escort
you to your vehicle? If it is, indeed, dangerous at night, we would be remiss
in allowing you to leave alone when it was we who, by being the last patrons in
this fine establishment, delayed your own retreat.”
“Huh?” Cathy said as
they all headed for the door. Vin chuckled.
“Ma’am, he said since
we’re the last ones out we held you up, so can we walk you to your car?”
“Oh, sure.” She said,
relieved. As they walked, Vin cautiously scanned the street.
“Looks clear, I guess.
By the way, what is it we’re lookin’ fer, anyway?” He asked.
“I...I don’t know,
really. All I know is, it comes at night, and kills people. It’s already
killed, like, twenty or thirty people.” Ezra exchanged a glance with Vin.
“Killed them how, my
dear?” They had, by now, reached an old, red Ford Escort, and Cathy was rooting
around in her purse, looking for her keys. However, at Ezra’s question, she
stopped, looked up at him, and shivered.
It t-tears them apart.
L-like some big animal.” She gulped. While Vin and Ezra exchanged looks
punctuated by raised eyebrows, a door slammed somewhere behind them. All three
of them jumped, and whirled. Vin and Ezra pushed Cathy behind them, while both
men drew their guns. Then they relaxed, and re-holstered their weapons. The
slamming door had only been the owner, Roger Zajak,
firmly closing the sticky door.
They turned back to Cathy
(who hadn’t seen the guns) and her car. She’d finally found her keys, and
hurriedly unlocked the small vehicle and slid in behind the wheel.
“So,” Ezra resumed their
interrupted conversation, “you’ve no idea what, exactly is attacking people?”
Cathy turned a frightened face to him.
“N–no. I just...it tears
people apart. That’s all I–“
”AAAUUUGGHHH!”
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
As the moon rose full
and bright in the sky, Doc Nathan made his way stealthily down to the morgue in
the basement of the hospital. Upon arriving there, he’d found the outer office
empty. Wondering where the attendant was, he’d proceeded on to the room where
autopsies were performed. Just as he reached the door, however, he heard a
strange noise from within. Figuring he’d found the errant morgue attendant, Doc
Nathan mentally reviewed his excuse for being down here - a mix-up in the
charts (neatly explaining Janice Croxley’s chart in his possession). However,
he never got a chance to use it, for, as he stepped through the door, he beheld
an amazing sight.
Of the three corpses on
stainless steel tables awaiting processing, one of them was - moving!
“Oh, hell!” Doc Nathan
muttered as he broke into a run towards the person struggling to untangle himself
from the shroud that covered him. While it was much more uncommon than it once
was, it still happened on occasion that a person was declared deceased by
mistake. In such a case, it was vital that that person receive medical
attention immediately, as the condition that caused them to be pronounced dead
in the first place had to have been a serious one.
Doc Nathan reached the
sheet-shrouded person in seconds, and pulled the cloth free. When he did,
however, he got one hell of a shock: The man’s skin was mostly white, but the
whole left side of his body was the red-purple color of a fresh bruise. Also,
his eyes, wide open and staring, were a cloudy white. Doc Nathan knew what both
of these symptoms were, and what they meant. The red-purple was lividity - after a person dies, their blood drains by way
of gravity to the lowermost point - in this case the man had evidently been
lying on his left side, and all the blood had pooled there. And the cloudiness
of his eyes was what happened to the vitrius
humor - the fluid in the eyeball - a day or two after death.
Two major and
unmistakable “symptoms” of death.
‘This man is dead!’ Doc
Nathan thought as he struggled to deal with the concept. ‘Holy Christ, this
man’s been dead for days!’ Stunned, Doc Nathan jerked away from the man, who
was struggled off the table. Doc Nathan grabbed the cold body by the arm, but
the man just pulled out of his grasp. He was completely ignoring the
dark-skinned doctor, behaving as if he didn’t even know Doc Nathan was there.
The dead man shambled towards the door.
Finally regaining his
wits, somewhat, Doc Nathan grabbed the corpse again, but, again, the man simply
pulled loose as if Doc Nathan was merely an obstacle holding him back
from..whatever he was trying to do. So Doc Nathan moved around in front of the
body, placing himself in the way. The corpse bumped into him as if not seeing
him, then moved around him like moving around a wall or other obstruction.
‘Zombie!’ Doc Nathan
realized. ‘This man is a zombie!’ But the only zombies Doc Nathan knew anything
about were the mindless flesh-eaters he’d seen in George Romero’s movies. And
they wouldn’t have simply ignored him. So what was this? Not knowing what else
to do, Doc Nathan glanced wildly around, eventually grabbing a rib-spreader. He
ran back to the walking dead man, and brought it down in a heavy blow to the
corpse’s skull. The skin split and the bone crunched in, leaving the ‘spreader
embedded in brain matter, but the blow did not even faze the creature, which
didn’t seem to notice the tool now sticking out of its head.
‘Ok, so crushing its
skull doesn’t do it.’ Doc Nathan thought, wondering what else to try.
Decapitation? Doc Nathan ran out into the corridor in search of a fire-axe.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Meanwhile, out in the
woods, Buck Wilmington slapped his companion awake. The gaping hole in Chris’s
belly was mute testament that something had happened, but Buck had no
idea what.
“Chris, what happened?”
Buck asked as the other vampire opened his eyes and jumped to his feet, staring
around wild-eyed, looking for a threat. “Chris!” Buck cried, trying to gain the
other’s attention. At last, realizing nothing was happening, Chris turned his
attention to his friend. “What happened?” Buck asked again.
“Damned compartment
opened up, and the solar panel shot out and hit me!” Larabee replied
indignantly. Buck looked at the satellite again. There was no open compartment,
nor extended solar panel.
“Looks the same as
before.” The mustached man told his boss.
“I tell ya, Buck, the
sucker hit me!” The black-clad vampire looked down at himself, where even now
the hole in his stomach was closing up. “How the hell d’ya
think this happened?” He pointed out.
“I believe ya, boss,”
Buck said with a shake of his head. “But look at the satellite.” Chris followed
the other man’s gaze, and stalked back to the offending object, glaring
balefully at it.
“I know what happened.”
Chris stated affirmatively.
Ok.” Buck said placatingly. “So why’d it do it? And how’d it do it?”
“I dunno.”
Chris replied, calming somewhat as he tried to figure out what was going on. He
walked over to the camcorder, which lay on its side on the ground near one of
the satellite’s legs. It was still recording.
“Hey, JD, you still with
me, here?”
“Uh, yeah, Chris, just
had to lock up Cuervo before he walked on the wrong
button and fired a missile or something. So what’s going on?” The young man
asked.
“Play back the tape and
take a look.” Chris said. Shrugging, JD transferred the tape display to another
screen so he could play the tape back while still watching Chris and Buck. He
rewound a bit, then played the recording back.
“What the–?” JD blurted,
startled, as he saw what he’d missed earlier. “That’s impossible!” He told the
others.
“Could there be a
short-circuit in whatever controls deployment of the solar panel?” Buck asked.
JD thought about it a second.
“I don’t think so.” The
computer wizard said uncertainly. “It would have to be a short in two different
circuits: The one that opens the compartment door, and the one that deploys the
panel.”
“Maybe the circuits are
crossed, and they’re shorting each other out?” Chris wondered.
“Let me see what I can find
out from here about the condition of the satellite.” JD said as he thought it
through some more. He decided now would be a good time to test a handy little
gadget they’d been given to beta-test. It was a remote circuit-tester. In other
words, instead of having to be directly connected to a circuit in order to test
if current was running through it, this device used a specialized sensor
similar to, but far more sensitive than, ordinary infra-red to sense the heat
generated by the wires as electricity ran through them. If there was a short
anywhere in the wiring, it would show up as a tiny “heat-bloom” where the
insulation was missing. JD pointed towards the satellite the parabolic dish the
sensor used, and activated the device. The readings he got surprised him. While
it confirmed the absence of abnormal radiation (which would have whited out the screen with it’s
energy), it also showed the satellite to be fully active.
“Hey,” JD said,
startled. “That thing’s active.”
“So?” Buck asked.
“So it should be dead.”
JD replied. “It was deactivated a long time ago, and it also just crashed down.
There shouldn’t be anything still working steady, even if there’s still juice
in the capacitors causing power surges.”
“So how the hell is it
still active?” Chris demanded. “And did you find a short or not?”
“Hang on.” JD replied,
studying the display closely. The satellite wasn’t as completely active as he’d
first stated, with quite a few circuits dark, but it wasn’t as inactive as it
should have been, and he didn’t find the heat-bloom he was looking for.
“No short-circuit that I
can find.” JD told the others at last. “There are some dead systems, you’ve
seen how much damage there is, but that solar panel isn’t a regular problem
that I can see.”
“So what the hell’s goin’ on?” Chris asked, once more glaring balefully at the
satellite. He walked right up to it, and banged on it with his fist. “Hey, in
there! Wha’chu doin’?” And
before Buck or JD could laugh at the idea of directly addressing the object as
if it were a person, the compartment door opened up again, and the solar panel
once more shot out. No one was standing in front of it this time, however, so
the panel retracted once more and the door closed.
“Hey, did you see that?”
Buck blurted, pointing at the now-closed door.
“Yea,” “Yes.” The others
replied, equally startled.
“Did you hit it before?”
Buck asked.
“No!” Chris replied.
Then, as an experiment, he hit it again, in the same place. However, this time,
instead of the expected solar panel extension, one of the remaining orbital
jets twisted around, pointed at Chris, and fired briefly.
To Be Continued