Primacy of Darkness (9 page)

Alpha team watched in horror as their comrades writhed from the electricity flowing through them. Sven swung his weapon the moment Jack struck the flare and began firing at the silhouette, but there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable. The gasoline fumes ignited. It took only seconds before the car’s tank ruptured and created a larger fireball that engulfed his team.

There was no dramatic explosion like you would see in a Hollywood movie, only fire burning his team alive while the electricity rooted them in place. Leona and Rick added their fire to Sven’s, the hum of their bullet swarm chasing Jack into the dark miasma.

“Fuck this guy!” Leona leapt from the roof and raced after Jack.

“Leona, hold!” Sven shouted after her.

Rick stood. “Sorry, Sven, our tactics aren’t working. It’s time to put ‘em on the table.”

“Dammit!” Sven jumped after Rick and sprinted to catch up. “Tower Six, Alpha One. Target ran into the Home Depot through the Archer Avenue entrance. Alpha team pursuing.”

“Copy, Alpha One. What is Charlie team’s status?” Gertrud asked.

“Charlie team is down. It’s just us three now.”

Gertrud took a deep breath and leaned onto the command console. “Alpha One, order your team to fall back and regroup.”

Gunfire erupted from within the store, the muzzle flashes lighting the interior. “Negative, Tower Six. That is no longer an option. Alpha One out.”

Gertrud stared down at the console, shaking her head. “This is an unmitigated disaster.”

“I warned you several times that our suppression teams were not trained to deal with the likes of Druitt,” Vincent said. “I should know. I created them both.”

Gertrud stood, her back rigid, and glared at Vincent. “Stooping to ‘I told you so’ at a time like this is beyond inappropriate. Do you really think your pet, Malone, would have fared any better?”

Vincent shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

“I did not ask you to call him in!”

“You also did not ask if I gave a damn. I just assumed you knew the answer.”

“You are insubordinate!”

Vincent took a step forward and imposed all of his formidable will. “I am the head of this enclave, and this is my city. I will use any tool in my arsenal to protect them.”

Gertrud shrank from his dominating gaze. “The high council will remove you from your position, if not your head from your shoulders, when they hear of this.”

“They can try.”

***

Sven stepped through the shattered glass of the front door, the shards crunching beneath his boots as he loped into the store and hunkered down behind the customer service desk. The interior was dark, with illuminated patches from a few overhead lights.

Gunfire broke out somewhere near the cement aisle. Leona’s enraged shouts were audible even over the firing combat rifles, and punctuated by a flash grenade exploding. Sven sprinted down the front of the store and stopped near the end of the row.

The smell of gunpowder in a confined space assaulted the senses. Wisps of smoke swirled around the few lights left on after hours. Sven crept down the aisle, pressing the butt of his M4 against his shoulder as he played it back and forth. His nerves were raw and the feeling of being in the movie
Aliens
came unbidden into his mind. He imagined Jack slowly uncurling from the ceiling and taking his head off.

Something flickered out of the corner of his eye. He spun, his finger tightening on the trigger. Had he been breathing, Sven would have let out a sigh of relief. Relaxing his finger and lowering his weapon, he knelt beside Leona who had tucked herself between pallets of concrete mix.

“Rick?” Sven whispered.

Leona shook her head. “He was a few paces behind me. Jack came up, stabbed him in the brain stem, and carried him off.”

“Christ, just like an alien.”

“What?”

Sven shook his head. “Nothing, just my brain screwing with me from watching too many movies.”

“I got off a few rounds. I’m sure I hit him, but nothing debilitating. What the hell do we do, Sven? This fucking guy…”

“I know. It’s like that movie with the lions.”

Leona gave him a queer look. “
The Lion King
?”

“No, the one with Val Kilmer—
The Ghost and the Darkness
. These lions are killing off the men building a railroad, and they can’t catch them because they don’t behave like any other lions.”

“I get it. We’ve been using normal lion-catching tactics on an abnormal lion.”

“Yes. So, what do you think?”

Leona flashed Sven a humorless smile. “It’s time to get abnormal.”

She stepped out from beneath the shelf, unclipped her M4, cast aside, and drew her sword. With a nod to Sven, she strode into the main aisle bisecting the length of the store, with her back straight, her stride certain and unhesitating.

“Montague, you still here?” she called out. “Why do you hate women so much, Montague? Is it because your mommy gave you such an effeminate name? Is that why you like to be called Jack, or is it because you touch yourself too much?”

“Finally, someone is learning how to play the game,” Jack’s voice crooned from across the store. “I guess I am supposed to get upset at your disparaging, childish words and hurl myself at you and your partner—your very last partner.”

“I did some reading up on you, Montague. I know you want people to think you are this scary man, but it’s hard to be scared of a guy whose entire motivation for killing is because he got herpes from a boyfriend who slept with a prostitute.”

“You know nothing of what or who I am, but I will teach you. You will know what I am before I am through playing with you!”

A dark shape dropped from the ceiling supports. Leona rolled out of Jack’s path and tried to intercept the blade stabbing at her. The thrusts came at her like a needle on a sewing machine, stitching a gory line from her hip to her breast. Sven’s M4 rattled off several bursts, chasing Jack back into the darkened recesses of the store. Leona ripped a flash grenade from her tactical vest and hurled it after him. The resulting burst lit up the far end of the aisle and cleared a large section of merchandise from several shelves.

“Leona?” Sven asked.

Leona pressed her hand against one of several deep punctures but ignored Sven’s concern. “I know what you are, Montague. You are an angry little boy, likely the product of an illicit union. I bet your mother was so wracked with shame that every time she changed your diapers, she pinched your tiny pee pee until you cried.

“Is that why you hate women and prefer boys? Maybe you started to enjoy it, but you knew it was wrong to like having your mommy pinch your pecker. I bet when you got a tiny boner, she punished you even worse, but the more she hurt you, the more you liked it and hated yourself.”

Molding snapped and splintered as Jack came diving through the long, thin pieces of wood with a savage roar. Leona slashed at his head, but Jack caught the blade with his knife. Sven tried to get a bead on Jack, but the killer continued to rush forward, grabbed Leona’s throat in his free hand, and drove her back.

Sven lurched to the side in an attempt to get a clear shot. Jack pushed Leona away and kicked her in the chest, sending her flying into a display of windows. Glass shattered under the impact, slicing and stabbing through Leona’s clothing and into her body.

Jack spun and stabbed at Sven with his blade. Sven tried to deflect the thrust with his rifle, but only partially succeeded. The blade slid across the butt of the rifle and stabbed deep into his shoulder.

Leona made to rush back into the fray, but the shattered glass slipped beneath her feet. Jack reached into his waistband, pulled out one of his pistols, and fired. Leona tried to dive aside, but the broken glass made for poor traction, and the round clipped her in the right hip.

Sven cast his M4 to the floor, grabbed the wrist holding the sword, and tried to punch Jack in the head with his free hand. Jack was a small man by most standards, but in regards to vampires, size rarely correlated with strength. Trying to force Jack’s arm back to retract the sword was like trying to pull a fence post out of the ground.

Jack blocked Sven’s right cross with the arm holding the pistol. The weapon flashed down three times in rapid succession, pistol-whipping the sheriff captain and opening a deep gash in his head. Being a vampire did not make him immune to the concussive strikes, and he staggered back, drawing his sword as he tried to shake off the stunning blows.

Leona lumbered forward once more, but healing so many injuries had sapped her strength and depleted her reserves. She still bled from numerous wounds, unable to force them to heal beyond her natural recovery rate. She slashed at Jack’s back, cutting a large hole in his jacket, but his quick reflexes allowed him to avoid all but a superficial cut.

Jack twisted to face Leona and blocked her follow-up strike with his falciform knife. Sven tried to hit him from the other side, but Jack thwarted his attack with several shots to his chest. The killer’s blade was a blur as it cut a zigzag pattern across Leona’s thighs and up her chest.

Leona’s reflexes were slow, and all she could do was stagger away, helpless to defend herself against her enemy’s speed and strength. She was still on her feet only through sheer willpower and stubbornness. She could no longer see Jack’s leering face as her vision faded and her senses went numb. Her legs collapsed when Jack’s knife plunged through her chest and severed her spine.

Sven drew his pistol and fired. “No!”

Jack leapt to the top of one of the steel risers and scurried across like a squirrel on a branch. Sven emptied the entire magazine at Jack’s back, certain that he struck him several times.

“Well played,” Jack said from the darkness several rows over. “I am so glad you and your friend were able to make the last few minutes of our game interesting. I was becoming bored with you.”

Sven ignored Jack’s taunting, slapped a fresh magazine into his weapon, and limped over to Leona. He knelt over her body and examined her wounds. Her eyes opened to slits, and she managed to find the strength to focus her thoughts enough to speak.

“I’m done. Get out of here if you can.”

Sven shook his head. “He won’t let me leave and I can’t outrun him. Besides, I would never leave you here.”

“I hate to say this, but I think maybe we should have let Malone have this one.”

Sven’s mouth quirked into a grin. “This is certainly an experience I would have loved to share with him.”

Leona closed her eyes. “Go kill that bastard.”

Sven stood, gripping his sword in one hand and his pistol in the other. His brain barely had time to register the attack before a twelve-foot section of one-inch galvanized pipe came launching down the aisle and speared into his chest. The impact drove him back several steps, but he maintained his feet and tried to raise his weapon.

Jack bolted out of the darkness, grabbed the pipe, and pushed Sven back until the distant end struck the wall. Sven tried to shoot Jack in the head, but Jack shot out one of his knees. Sven toppled onto his side. He raised his pistol and fought to control the shaking in his hand. Jack’s pistol flashed again and destroyed Sven’s elbow. Sven cried out before he could block the agonizing pain.

The ruthless murderer loomed over Sven’s prostrate body and pointed his gun between his eyes. “You played a marginally decent game, but it is over now.”

Sven closed his eyes, waiting for the shot that would end his life. He opened them again when the intercom crackled to life and a new voice filled the cavernous store.

“Attention, shoppers, for the next twenty minutes, we’re having an after-hours special on ass kickings. Limit one per customer, and supplies are limited, so make your way to the front of the store to receive your free ass kicking now. Thank you for shopping at Home Depot After Dark.”

Jack looked up at one of the speakers hanging from a support beam. “Who on earth is that?”

Sven laughed, flecking his lips with blood. “That’s the sound of a foot getting broke off in your ass.”

CHAPTER 12

I find Jack on one of the security monitors, about to execute a finishing move on Sven. Keying the mic, my hope is to distract him enough to ignore Sven and turn his full, murderous attention on me. Nothing like slathering myself in barbecue sauce before climbing into the lion’s cage.

“Attention shoppers, for the next twenty minutes, we’re having an after-hours special on ass kickings. Limit one per customer, and supplies are limited, so make your way to the front of the store to receive your free ass kicking now. Thank you for shopping at Home Depot After Dark.”

I glance at the security guard hiding beneath the console gripping a can of pepper spray as if it’s tethered to his eternal soul. “You can stay hidden or make a run for it. I give you even chances with either option of making it out of here alive.”

‘Paul Blart’ decides it’s better to get the hell out of Dodge and makes a break for the back door as soon as I leave the security office. Gripping Shalonda in my left hand and my sword in my right, I make my way toward the front of the store.

Montague, or Jack, or whatever the hell he wants to call himself, is waiting for me. He is striking a casual pose, leaning against a bin full of cheap, Chinese-made tools. He is wielding a short, thin sword in one hand and a police-issued Glock 19 in the other.

I step out of the aisle and face him. “You look awfully comfortable for a guy who knows someone is coming to kill him.”

Jack straightens up and takes me in with a glance. “I am unaccustomed to someone challenging me in such a fashion, and your arrival came as a bit of a surprise. I thought I might like to meet such an audacious,” he looks at my weapons, “and well-endowed individual.”

“Anyone who tells you size doesn’t matter is just trying not to hurt your feelings. Is that why you kill hookers, one of them laughed at your tiny sword?”

Jack smiled. “If they had, they certainly are not laughing anymore.”

“Why did you come back here? It sounds like you had a good life down south. Why ruin that and draw so much attention to yourself?”

“You have been talking to my good friend, Vincent. I suppose he is partly to blame for my return, but mostly I just got bored.”

I nod. “I suspected that you two had a more intimate relationship than he let on.”

“If you mean that in a sexual way, you are mistaken, although I must admit there was a mutual sort of affection between us. Sadly, it got a bit complicated before anything could come of it. The world was a very different, far less tolerant place back then.”

“You know what I think?”

“I would not dare to presume. Please, do enlighten me.”

“I think you lost the limelight and you couldn’t stand the thought. I think that with terrorists and school shooters getting all the attention lately, you felt ignored. Your name was once synonymous with terror and you hated the thought of becoming irrelevant—worse, forgotten.”

“Were I not an introspective man, I might find your words insulting, but I suppose there is some truth in what you say. There is only one true form of immortality and that is being remembered by future generations. Our kind thinks our condition is something akin to immortality. What they do not realize is that even if they managed to live forever, which they cannot, their insignificance and obscurity means they are already worse than dead.”

“So, it’s like Lady Gaga says, you’re doin' it for the fame.”

“You are trying to debase my purpose.” Jack leans forward and inhales, a predator taking in another’s scent. “I think you and I are very similar creatures.”

“Now you’re just trying to be insulting.”

“Not at all. I consider it the highest of compliments. Death surrounds you. You wear it like a shroud, much like the fog outside veiling the city in a cold, life-stealing veil. You could be so much more than you are.”

“If you tell me you’re my father and you want me to join the dark side, you’re wasting your time. I already cut my hand off once today, and I’ll be damned if I’ll do it again.”

“You cannot honestly tell me that you care about these human wretches.”

“As a whole, not really, but you’re pissing in the pool, and I like to go for a swim from time to time.”

Jack chuckles and takes a step toward me. “You are an amusing man, but I am afraid that I am not ready to leave the water just yet. It seems we are at an impasse. Whatever shall we do about it?”

“It’s like the song says; hit the road, Jack. Don’t you come back no more.”

Shalonda’s barrel comes up so fast it would make Doc Holliday jealous, but Jack is already moving. The slug tears a hole in his jacket shoulder and blasts a new window to the outside through the cinder block wall behind him. Jack pops off three rounds in my direction as he bolts for cover down the paint aisle. I give chase from one row over, blasting through the paint cans on the other side. The cans explode in spectacular fashion. Spray paint lifts off and spirals like out of control rockets.

I reach the end of the aisle, but Jack is gone. It doesn’t take a Navajo tracker to follow the paint drops and footprints leading away. Jack is fast, and he knows how to move without making a sound. I cock an ear, but I can’t hear anything except the droning of the air circulation system and the buzzing of the few fluorescent lights still on.

The tracks lead down the plumbing fixtures aisle. I reload Shalonda as I creep toward the iconic orange shelves towering over me. My head pokes around the corner and back again for a quick glimpse. Not spotting anything on my first glance, I take a better look.

There are no lights overhead, and the ones that should have been on, appear to have been shot out or otherwise decommissioned during the course of battle. Keeping low and ready, I follow the paint smears down the aisle. The tracks disappear just before the end.

I realize the trap a second too late. A sink flies at me from between the shelves, clipping me on the shoulder and shattering on the ground. The force of the hit staggers me, but I don’t go down. Jack drops from the top of the riser, his sword poised to puncture my skull. I raise my revolver, but I’m too slow to put a bullet in his head and burst it like a watermelon.

His blade stabs through my forearm and forces my arm down as I squeeze the trigger. A toilet on display behind him explodes into a shower of porcelain shards. Jack brings his pistol in line, and I swing my sword to intercept it. With his weapon in my face, I have to choke up on my swing, sacrificing much of my power.

My blade cuts through his jacket sleeve and bites into his flesh. It isn’t a debilitating blow, but it is enough to foul his aim. The pistol discharges and sends a slug into my chest near my right shoulder. My Miguel Caballero saves me from suffering any real injury, but it still feels as if a mule just kicked me.

Jack’s diving charge forces me against the shelves. I manage to raise a leg between our bodies and kick him in the stomach. He flies back, pulling the steel out of my arm as he goes. I raise Shalonda to squeeze off another round, but he dives out of my aim.

Before I can get off another shot, Jack rolls under the shelving unit and into the other aisle. He comes up firing on the run. Sinks and toilets shatter around me as I chase after him with more controlled shots. I sprint out onto the main floor, but Jack is gone.

Somewhere near the gardening section, he calls out. “I would know the name of the man trying to kill me.”

“Malone.”

“Mr. Malone, it seems that I am out of bullets. What say we both forego these modern contraptions of death, and kill each other like civilized men?”

“Fine by me. I’m out too.”

Jack steps into the main aisle, his sword held loosely in his hand. When he gets within about twenty feet, I whip Shalonda up and pull the trigger. Jack spins and leaps back into cover with a yelp.

“Oops, I guess I had one shot left.”

“I should have expected such underhanded duplicity from an Italian. Are you quite finished now?”

I pull the trigger several times, letting the hammer fall on the spent chambers. Jack reappears a few paces ahead of me.

“I am going to exact a payment in pain for that, Mr. Malone.”

“I hope you take installments, because I plan on racking up one hell of a bill.”

“You are certainly confident.”

“So far, it’s been well-deserved.”

He smiles as he strides toward me. “We shall see.”

Jack’s overfeeding has supercharged him, and it shows in his speed and strength. The space between us vanishes in an instant, and his sword stings me like a swarm of bees. The slender blade, driven with the force of a jackhammer, punches through my bulletproof jacket and into various body parts. None of the strikes are debilitating, but now I’m leaking like the Little Dutch Boy’s dike. I send “fingers” of super platelets to plug my holes. Even with a fresh feeding running through me, I can only fix so many leaks before it takes its toll on me.

Grabbing his wrist, I wrench the sword out of my chest. I pivot on my left foot and fling him away. Jack is airborne until he reaches the riser. Instead of slamming into the steel frame, he manages to twist in midair and cling to the metal riser. He coils his legs and springs, launching himself back at me on an almost identical, reverse trajectory.

Our bodies collide, and we both go tumbling across the floor, each of us gripping the other’s sword arm. Vampires do not have the conspicuous fangs often portrayed in movies and books, but that doesn’t keep him from snapping at my face like an animal. I manage to keep my nose out of his gnashing teeth and deliver a headbutt to his face.

The blow elicits a satisfying crunch from Jack’s nose and stuns him enough for me to get my foot between us. I heave with all my might and send Jack flying toward the roof. He grabs a support beam and swings away like a monkey in the jungle. I follow him with my eyes for a few seconds before he drops down between the aisles and I lose sight of him.

The whining of an electric saw shatters the silence. Another power tool winds up, and then several more join in to add to the cacophonic chorus. I stalk over to the power tools section and find that Jack has plugged in and turned on several of the saws and drills on display.

Expecting an ambush, I crouch near a shelving unit and study my surroundings. I back myself into a corner, limiting his avenues of approach.

“Come on, Jack. I walked into your trap. Come get me, you prick,” I say to myself.

I feel a slight tremor in the floor and cock my head in an attempt to get a fix on the source. The aluminum shelving unit beside me explodes, and something large and heavy slams into me. I grab the nearest source of support and hang on as I’m driven back. Looking up, I see Jack smiling with glee behind the wheel of the forklift that is now carrying me across the store.

“Need a lift, Mr. Malone?” Jack cackles.

I heave myself onto one of the forks and leap over the lift tower onto the cab. The forklift crashes through another flimsy stand, sending tools flying and skittering across the floor. Gripping the edge of the cab, I swing my legs into the open driver’s seat and kick Jack in the side of the head.

I knock Jack out of his seat, but he maintains his grip on the steering wheel. He grabs one of my legs and gives it a yank, pulling me farther into the cab.

My head is hanging off the left side of the forklift while Jack’s legs dangle over the right. The Hyster crashes into the paint aisle’s endcap and comes to a stop, its wheels spinning in the spilled paint. He regains his feet on the machine’s side, draws his sword from where he had stashed it inside his jacket, and lunges at me.

Still sprawled across the seat, I make a clumsy attempt to parry his thrust and just manage to divert its path. He cocks his arm back and stabs at me again. I reach behind me and grab a can of spray paint from the shelf. Jack’s blade flashes for my face and punctures the bottom of the can.

Jack cries out and recoils when the paint geysers out of the bottom of the can and into his face and eyes. I kick him in the chest and send him crashing into the shelves on the opposite side of the aisle. Bolting upright, I stab for his chest, but he manages to deflect my thrust. I still earn a hiss of pain as my sword plunges into his shoulder. He leaps away and glares at me, the anger in his eyes telling me that he is no longer enjoying our fight.

I swirl my finger in front of my face. “Jack, you got a little something on your face there. You might want to clean it off—unless you are going to lead a Scottish army to fight for independence. Then I think you’re all set.”

“This game has reached its conclusion.”

“Are you sure? I’m just getting warmed up.”

If I’m honest with myself, a solid thirty percent of my confidence is complete bullshit. Jack is fast, strong, and not nearly as stupid as most of the rogues I’ve put down over the years. Fact is, the longer this plays out, the slimmer my odds get of winning. Jack is overfed, and his reserves allow him to dish out and take a lot more punishment than I can.

“It is my game,” he says. “I decide when and where we play and when it is over.”

I turn my ear to the soft thumping of rotor blades drawing closer. “Do you hear that, Jack?”

“Police,” Jack says with a contemptuous snort. “They challenge me at their peril.”