CHAPTER 24
Crazy on You
“Vampires are sentient beings!”
The speaker was a portly man in his fifties with a big bushy beard and thick brown hair, wearing a tweed jacket that must have been hot as hell. He looked like the late and unlamented Tedd Roberts. Who wears a tweed jacket in a town like New Orleans in May?
“So are you,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I won’t blow your brains out if you don’t get out of my way.”
The attack had taken place over on the Academic Quad. From what we’d gleaned, the vamps might still be on the premises.
“University property is a sanctuary zone!” the man shouted. He was some sort of dean. “Entry of common law enforcement is forbidden!”
“Good thing we’re not law enforcement,” Milo said.
“That’s right, we’re bounty hunters,” I said. “Different breed of cat. I can quote the Supreme Court rulings. Seriously, if you think we should not enter and deal with the threat, go reason with them. From my experience, vampires can be reasoned with. We’ll follow and stay back. You go talk them down.”
“Well, uh…” the man said, grabbing his collar and pulling it.
“So, you’re fine with your students getting their throats ripped out but not willing to take the chance yourself? I mean, ’cause they’re only students, right? Plenty more where those came from. They just clutter up the place.”
“That’s not at all—”
“Both my parents are professors. I’ve heard the discussions since I was a kid. Now, for the last time, you got three choices: Get out of my way, go try to talk the vamps down yourself, or personally experience the violence inherent in the system. Choose.”
Back in his twenties he’d probably have been more than willing to take a beat-down to prove a point. Give peace a chance. Stick it to the man by showing how the entire system was based on fascism.
That was then, this was now. He got out of the way.
As we were walking away, Milo told him, “Sentient just means they feel stuff. You meant they’re sapient beings. Read a book, professor.”
Luckily, this time of night the campus was pretty deserted. We found the campus cops next to a mangled body. From the number and savagery of the bite wounds, we were either dealing with several vampires or one really aggressive one. Milo identified us and started talking to the cops. I started looking for a sign of which way they had gone.
“Hand, Trevor,” my radio hissed. “Location?”
“Peace quad. Credit union. One KIA so far. No count on vamps yet.”
“Alvin and Moore are coming in from the north. Me and Shelbye are at your six. Hold your position until we get there.”
I spotted bloody footprints. I could hear music coming from that direction.
Milo came over. “Witnesses saw at least two, definitely sounds like vamps. And the cops just got a radio call, something about a party over there.” Then he saw the bloody footprints. “Three…four…Oh boy. They’re hunting in a pack.”
“Negative, Trevor,” I radioed. “We need to get this shut down fast.”
There was a long pause. “Continue sweep.”
“Hand out,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”
“Two of us going up against this many vamps in the dark is insane,” Milo said. “Not saying I’m not coming, but…”
“We have to go in,” I said, stepping into the darkness. “Nothing says we have to come out.”
* * *
We’d been sweeping east of the bookstore when we heard a series of shots and screams to our right. Small caliber handgun. Mixed screams. A more powerful gun, fairly rapid fire. Panic fire in both cases.
The campus cops had been armed with .38s.
We sprinted between the bookstore and the Jesus School. Behind it was a well-lit set of basketball courts and a “scene.”
There had been a bunch of kids out on the court playing basketball under the lights. Most of them looked to be university students. Guys playing, girls mostly watching. Bit of a party. Coolers filled with beer. Stereo going.
Then vampires decided to crash the party.
Two fraternities had gotten into some sort of friendly argument and decided to hash it out with an equally friendly game of basketball. Their associated sororities had turned out to act as cheerleaders.
Many of the Loyola students were from other states. Mommy and Daddy would pay to get them out of the house and send them off to New Orleans to get some education, hopefully, and have a good time when they were still young. Gather ye rosebuds. Sweet yet swiftly pass the halcyon days of youth.
Locals in both groups recommended against it. They knew that bad things were happening on the full moon lately. One of them even came armed. He had a .44 Automag—a present from his parents—which he was carrying illegally. Because he was a superstitious local, he’d rubbed silver nitrate in the hollowpoint cavities. Not that a small amount of silver nitrate would actually do anything to a loup-garou. Has to be pure silver, not any sort of alloy. I’d say “pro-tip” but you should have gotten that in training.
But you couldn’t blame the local boy for trying.
Problem being, bullets aren’t much good on vamps. Even young vampires swallow bullets and spit out the bits. Hitting them in the head would disorient them. Breaking bones would slow them down, at least until they regenerated. But the only way to really shut down a vamp was to stick something big through their heart, and killing them required taking off their heads.
As it was, the kid’s pistol didn’t do much good at all. Not noticeably.
He still did better than the campus cop, though.
The campus cop, who survived, later explained that he’d come to the group to get them to leave. They were having too much fun to listen to some fat old security guard talking about a “security threat on campus.” They were mostly drunk, the music was going, and they hadn’t heard the previous victim’s screams.
When the vamps appeared and ripped the arms off of the first basketball player, the cop had drawn his revolver, turned tail and ran, firing over his shoulder. Full-on spray and pray with all six rounds. He hit two students, one lightly, the other died in the hospital, and not a single vamp.
Most of the students, live ones anyway, were running when we arrived. One was limping away, bullet in the leg, one coed was down and bleeding. Five were down, covered in vamp. The one with the gun was trying to get another magazine in the well. Props for courage at least.
I took a look and called to Milo.
“Fade left and cover,” I said, drawing Mo No Ken.
Like I said, guns only sort of disorient and piss off vampires. You have to take off their heads.
One of the vamps glanced up from her meal, and turned towards me. Female, looked not much different from the coed she’d been feeding on. Shorts, crop-top shirt, barefoot.
The tape in the radio changed to “Crazy on You” as I charged.
She came at me, slower than normal, bloated with blood, arms spread to catch my shoulders, pull me in and bite. But even a slow vamp was crazy fast. I swung up from a down and left position, taking off her right hand at the wrist. She still tried to claw my face off.
Milo’s bullet went through her cheek, shattered her teeth, and blew the side of her skull off.
She stumbled past. I leaned left and came down with Mo No Ken from behind and took her right leg out from under her, cutting it in two through the thigh. That caused her to buckle sideways, right in line for a one-handed return upstroke.
Sweep back and the blonde head was rolling in the sodium arc lights.
It was like that kill flipped a switch, and every other vampire’s head snapped up, staring at me with red eyes. They all looked like kids, new creations, feral, not smart, but still mean as hell.
The nearest male leapt up from his victim and charged me. I spun away in a pirouette à la seconde, came around and took his head from behind. It flipped through the air, splattering ichor in every direction.
There are times like this when I’m in the zone I wish there were cameras rolling. It must have been beautiful.
Milo was firing: rapid, aimed semiauto. Every round hitting a skull. A female vampire flew through the air from my right, hissing like a tea kettle. A bullet went up her nose and out her forehead. I slashed upward and rolled out of the way. She landed behind me. I took a quick look over my shoulder. The female vamp was on her knees and hands, trying to figure out why her legs weren’t working right. That was because both lower legs were lying in a pool of blood.
Before I could take her head, a vampire tackled me.
It was like getting hit by a rhino. Mo No Ken went flying as the vamp started ripping at my throat guard, trying to get it free while I tried to push his face to the side. Not much chance of that with a vamp, but I wasn’t going to fight fair. I got a thumb into his eye and gouged until blood squirted out.
The vamp grabbed my left arm and twisted it, nearly breaking it. Even a weak new vamp is as strong as a power lifter.
But the eye gouge was just a distraction. The whole time I was scrabbling for a canteen. I opened the lid and tossed the holy water in his face. He shrieked and rolled off of me. He probably hadn’t experienced pain since being turned.
I crawled for my sword, wondering why Milo had stopped shooting. I got my answer when he was hurled past, to bounce off the chain link fence and land facedown in the basketball court.
The vampire with the melted face flew back to his feet. He was on me in a flash. I reached for Mo No Ken, but I was dragged away, my left arm ripped by his talons. That would have to wait. Amazing how you can ignore things like that when you’re running on pure adrenaline.
There were several shots. Then dozens of them. I was splattered with blood as the vampire was riddled. It jerked and twitched, pieces of meat flying in every direction, until it fell flat on its back in a cloud of smoke and blood vapor.
That thing I said about bullets only disorienting and pissing them off? That’s why we use a lot of bullets.
Franklin Moore ran past me. He stopped at the vampire and drove a stake through its ribs, pinning it there and leaving it paralyzed. Then he drew a military surplus machete from his belt and started hacking crudely at its neck, like he was clearing brush. As a swordsman, it was painful to watch.
“Damn, Franklin, sharpen that thing or something.”
Half a dozen chops later, the head rolled off.
I got up and retrieved my sword. Shelbye was helping Milo up. Alvin and Trevor were finishing off the last wounded vamp.
The student with the Automag had finally gotten the magazine loaded and lifted the weapon, searching for targets.
“You point that at me, my friend will put a round through your head,” I said.
He’d been so concentrated on reloading his gun he hadn’t even realized we were there.
“Oh, shit,” he said, slumping down, the gun dropping from nerveless fingers. “Shit, shit, shit…”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping Mo No Ken. “Welcome to our world. What’s your name, kid?”