Undead - One Foot In The Grave Part 33

A sign flashed past, proclaiming Fort Scott was just another five miles up the road.

"My G.o.d," I whispered, "it's the old Tremont House."

The building was located at the corner of State and Wall Streets, at the north end of town and just a mile from the historic landmark that gave the town of Fort Scott its name. Three stories high, it had a mustard-colored, stucco-over-brick exterior that looked younger and newer under the actinic wash of the streetlamps. Closer inspection revealed that it had been closed up for a long time. The boards over the windows and across the doors looked as old and weathered as the wood frames they were nailed across.

Over its one-hundred-and-twenty-some year history it had served the city as a grand hotel and housed a variety of businesses, including the Eagles Lodge, the People's College, and a Greyhound bus depot. According to local rumor it had even been a bordello back in the sixties.Now it was daynest for the undead.

We parked at the end of the block and gazed back up the hill. "So, what's the plan?" I asked as we huddled between the Bronco and the Duesenberg.

Everyone looked at me.

"Well, do we go in and get them or wait for them to come out?" This wasn't really such a stupid question, was it?

"I will need a closer look," Ba.s.sarab announced abruptly. He pulled at his black duster, wrapping the long coat around himself like a cape, and strode up the street.

"A reconnoiter is definitely called for," Lupe agreed, and began disrobing. A moment later a large, grey canine form was loping toward the hillside nest in Ba.s.sarab's wake.

Mooncloud crutched over to me while Wren opened the rear boot on the Duesenberg. She whispered: "I don't like this."

"Hey," I said, "we're about to attack a bunch of immortal creatures who can't be killed or even hurt in most of the conventional ways, who are superhumanly strong and highly motivated to kill and hurt us back-what's not to like?"

"I'm talking about Ba.s.sarab," she hissed, pulling on my arm. We moved away from Wren as he began unloading equipment.

"What are you complaining about? I'm the one who had to ride with him."

She pulled me farther away. "This mission is possibly the most difficult and dangerous one I've ever undertaken and that was before these guys-" she jerked her head toward the antique auto "-came along and complicated everything."

"As I remember it, we'd lost our transportation, our weapons, our equipment, supplies, and pretty much our self-respect before these guys came along. I should think you would feel a little more grat.i.tude, Doctor."

She turned away, her arms stiff against the metal tubing of the crutches, and grunted. "He won't permit us to contact Stefan. He insists that we do things his way. And he won't discuss strategy with us until the last minute. And maybe not even then." She turned back to me. "I don't trust him, Chris. Even if he is who he says he is. Maybe I trust him even less if he is the real Dracula." She grasped my arm. "I've sworn my allegiance to Pagelovitch-no one else. And the Doman has always allowed me to run my missions my way. I won't take responsibility for the lives at risk, otherwise." She glanced back at Wren.

"So if and when push comes to shove, you're gonna have to decide."

"Decide what?"

"Whether you take orders from him or from me. If I give the signal, Lupe will neutralize Wren and I'll take down Ba.s.sarab myself. I hope I can count on you."

"To take orders from you?"

She looked at my face and was not rea.s.sured. "You'd side with him?"

"What if I side with me?" I asked quietly. "What if I decide to follow some orders of my own?"

"Chris, he's the one responsible for your condition! Directly or indirectly, he's the cause of your wife and daughter's deaths!"

"You're missing the point." Now it was my turn to steer her a few feet farther from the Wren. "That day I drove through Weir and saw a column of smoke-well, it was the last day that my life was my own. I was summoned into that barn. And ever since that moment, I've been sleepwalking through an ongoing nightmare."

"We've tried to help-"

"Oh, yeah!" I snapped. "I was abducted, kept under house arrest, and basically told how my life was going to be from now on!""I thought you understood the reasons for-"

"Your reasons," I said harshly, "not mine. I'm not ungrateful and I do understand the necessities as you and the others saw them. But I'm through taking orders. From now on, I'll cooperate when it's the obvious and meaningful thing to do." I curled my fingers into a fist. "But it's my life," I said, thumping my chest. "Such as it is. And it's long past time for me to start taking responsibility for it again."

The gesture was obviously meant to be conciliatory. But, as she laid her hand upon my arm, I felt a surge of resentment. "We need you, Chris. And you need us." A sense of manipulation there. "Think of the research-"

"Since you are so fond of research, Doctor, let's try something right now. Look in my eyes."

"What?" She looked up at me, startled but unafraid.

"I'm a member of the Master Race now. Maybe a half-breed b.a.s.t.a.r.d by a.n.a.logy, but definitely something beyond human." I smiled, feeling hollow. I looked into her eyes, forbidding her to look away.

"You, Taj, are merely human."

A puzzled frown tugged at her lips and forehead. "Why are you talking this way?"

I swallowed, the taste of ashes was in my mouth. "Kiss my feet."

"What?"

"It's very simple, Doctor: I want you to get down on your knees and kiss my feet."

The frown was fully formed, but her eyes were still clear. "And why should I do such a thing?"

"Why? Because I command you," I said in a reasonable tone. And all the while forced the image of her compliance to the forefront of my thoughts. "You will obey me because I wish it. Because your will is no longer yours, but mine."

"I-I don't understand. . . ." Now there were clouds gathering in her eyes. She trembled a bit.

"It's not important that you understand, Taj. It's only important that you obey me. Kiss my feet."

"I don't want to." Her voice was shaky and her eyes were starting to unfocus.

"It doesn't matter what you want, my dear. It only matters what I want." I pushed at the image in my mind, made the mental image of Mooncloud drop to her knees. "Get down on the sidewalk and kiss my feet."

The woman in front of me slid the crosspieces from under her arms and, gripping the stems of the crutches, lowered herself to one knee. "No," she whispered.

"Yes." I pushed the mental image further, felt the bile rise in my throat. "Do it!"

The other knee came down. "Please," she whispered. The crutches clattered to the ground on each side of her.

"I can make you do it," I said. "You can't resist my will."

"Please. . . ." She was swaying on her knees and suddenly fell forward, arms rigid and hands splayed, catching herself before her face landed on the sidewalk.

"Taj," I said, speaking gently but holding the command in unyielding mental subjugation, "say 'uncle.' "

"It's the virus," she grunted through clenched teeth. "It's already begun to affect your mind-your personality-"

That wasn't the reason I was doing it, but I released her, anyway.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she said, red-faced and struggling to pull herself back up on her crutches. "What the h.e.l.l did you do to me?"

"Research, Doctor. Vampires are supposed to have the power to cloud men's minds, to dominate another's will. To bind mental slaves and hold them in thrall. I wanted to see if I could do it. I think I can."

I easily intercepted the slap aimed for my face, held her wrist in my grasp. "Do you agree or do I need to repeat the experiment and carry it out to an undeniable conclusion?""Yes, d.a.m.n you!" Her eyes were no longer clouded; the fear was gone, replaced by anger.

"h.e.l.l of thing, research," I remarked, still holding her wrist in my grasp. "And a h.e.l.l of thing when people can control you, make your decisions for you." I released her wrist. "Well, what have we learned here, Doctor? I've learned that my brain chemistry is, indeed, changing. What have you learned?" I turned and walked back toward the Duesenberg.

"I thought we were friends, Csejthe," she called to my back.

I stopped. "I thought we were friends, too," I said quietly. "But tonight I realized that you would still be my keeper." I walked on over to the Duesenberg and found Ba.s.sarab already returned and in conversation with his chauffeur.

"Problem?" he asked as I approached.

"Nothing I can't handle," I said. "Didn't notice your return."

He shrugged dismissively. "Didn't want you to." He looked about. "Where is the lycanthrope?"

My turn to shrug. "I don't know, I'm not her keeper." My temper was short tonight.

"You need to remedy that."

And getting shorter. But before I could open my mouth, Lupe trotted up.

"Black limo and tan Chevy van parked on the side street to the west. Arkansas plates on the van."

The wolf paused, lifting her hind leg to scratch at something behind her ear. "No loose boards on the ground level. Try checking the fire escape."

"And only one is presently home," Ba.s.sarab added. "The rats say that he may be sleeping. I think that we can take this one easily enough and then await the return of the others." He buckled on a belt and scabbard. A richly ornamented sword hilt protruded from the wooden sheath. "Come. Let us hasten before the others return."

I hoisted a miniature flamethrower up and onto my back while Victor helped fasten the shoulder harness across my chest. Burning-burning should work. Of course, so should decapitation and a stake through the heart. So buckling on a web-belt with twin holsters was not really a matter of overkill: the two Splatmaster Rapide Semi-Automatic paint pistols that I slid into their leather scabbards were a logical if less than rea.s.suring precaution under the circ.u.mstances. When I looked up, Mooncloud was c.o.c.king her second crossbow and Wren was loading the airbow with a fresh CO2 cartridge. A barbed spear with an ash shaft was just showing at the barrel's opening, already locked into firing position. Over his shoulder was a bag filled with wooden stakes. Lupe was going empty-handed as she hadn't any.

Hands, that is: she had elected to remain in wolf form.

"Follow me and move quietly," Ba.s.sarab ordered. "I will go in first, followed by Victor, and then Mr.

Csejthe. Doctor, your crutches will be a liability in close quarters. You will remain outside to help the wolf-b.i.t.c.h guard the outer perimeter."

Lupe growled softly.

"Rats, huh?" I said as we started down the street toward the ancient structure. "The rats told you how many people are in the building and what they're doing?"

Ba.s.sarab nodded.

"Telepathy, right?"

Ba.s.sarab nodded again.

"Boy am I just br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence, now."

"And why is that?" Lupe rumbled.

"Because," I murmured, "they always say: 'It's not just what you know but who you know that counts.'"

"Mr. Csejthe. . ." Ba.s.sarab remarked.

"Yes?"" . . . shut up."

Chapter Seventeen.

I saw Michael Jordan once. It was at a Bulls game in Chicago-back during his first basketball career when he could defy gravity like nothing I'd ever seen.

But tonight that memory was fully eclipsed and I had seats up front and center court.

Air Dracula.

The old man took two brisk steps and flung himself into the night sky. The fire escape was at least twelve feet above the broken sidewalk and he caught the top railing coming down. That was the first miracle. The second was that it didn't come cras.h.i.+ng down: the rusted out remains of iron grillwork hung lopsidedly from the second story and its drop-down ladder had long since dropped down and disappeared. Silently, he scrambled over and into the boxy metal basket like some great condor returned to its stony nest. Then he locked his feet through gaps in the ironwork and hung downward, extending his hands to us.

I boosted Wren up to where his master could pull him the rest of the way and then made my own leap. I made it without too much effort, the major difference being that I had to grab hold on the way up instead of down. I guess I wasn't thinking my "happy thought."

The window was open, but the old man hesitated. He looked back at us. "One of you will have to go in first," he said softly.

I looked at Wren. "Nerves?" I murmured.

"He's a vampire," Wren whispered. "He has to be invited across the threshold."

Oh. "Then who invited the Brady Bunch inside when they got here?"

"Vampires don't need invitations into empty and abandoned buildings." He nodded toward the dark interior with his head. "But now that they're here, it's no longer empty and abandoned."

Dracula gestured toward the dark depths on the other side of the cas.e.m.e.nt: "Mr. Csejthe, under the circ.u.mstances, I suggest we stake first and ask questions later."

Wren went in first, extended the invitation to Ba.s.sarab, and I followed close behind after shuffling my feet and fighting a strong urge to guard the window from the outside. Was it because I was coming close to requiring my own invitation? Or simply that common sense and basic survival instincts were pointing me in the opposite direction?

Mercury-vapor streetlamps glared through the second-story windows, throwing blue-white swatches of dazzling light across the empty room. My night vision couldn't compensate for vast differences in light and darkness every few feet, and I had to grope in the wake of my companions. I hoped the blind weren't leading the blind.

We pa.s.sed through a doorway and into a trash-littered hall that ran the length of the building, punctuated by doors on either side. I reached out to try one and the old man stopped me with a gesture."My sources tell me there is only one and that he is on the floor above us."

Rats.

We moved on down the hallway and found the stairs going up. As I grasped the banister railing with my left hand, I drew one of the Splatmaster Rapide paint pistols with my right. We started up the stairs.