Night of the Vampires. Heather Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ Ah, hell.

      Maybe a Texas sheriff shouldn’t be in Washington, D.C.

      Maybe he was even a traitor, in a way. There was a sad irony to this. Here he was, a Texas sheriff, with a ragtag band in a Federal POW camp, having to put down not just the Union guards, but his Southern brethren, as well.

      But Cole knew himself, when he’d heard about the madness, it wasn’t going to matter to him any if the new bloodshed was occurring in the North, the South or Timbuktu, he was in on stopping it. Humans were humans, and that was that. He’d seen what the vampires could do, and he’d fight them with his fellow man, no matter what label anybody wanted to put on anyone.

      God knew where they’d really come from, the whole damned war was so crazy, brothers choosing different sides, Lincoln’s wife’s family all in the South, fathers finding their own sons dead on the battlefield.

      And now—this. No matter who was what and what uniform went on what man, there was no going around this.

      “They’re going to be coming en masse any second now,” Cody said quietly. He looked at the others; they nodded to one another and stepped forward.

      “Best we can, let’s pick them off before the numbers flood in,” Cole said.

      “Oh, yes, yessir. As quiet as can be until…” Brendan said.

      They all knew what he meant.

      It started slowly. A few of them sensing—or smelling—fresh blood. They came slinking out along the walls, unorganized, instinct and bloodlust guiding them. Cole picked off another two, and Cody caught a couple while Brendan kept his keen eyes out, giving the warnings.

      Then Brendan shouted, “They’re coming in force!”

      And they did. Confederate and Union soldier, prisoner and guard, old and young. They arrived without further warning.

      The first wave were all young vampires, or so it seemed. They weren’t turning to mist, weren’t moving at the speed of lightning. They were awkward, untutored. They hadn’t been diseased slowly, properly; they had been taken in a frenzy and, in turn, they were more like a sad and ragtag pack of stumbling, hungry corpses than creatures of wit and malice and true evil.

      Vampires thrived in times of war and chaos. They could gorge themselves, and no one would really know what was going on—nobody could distinguish what was part of the war and what was part of an evil hunger. Vampires could be very clever, naturally keeping their numbers down by disposing of their food properly. Unless they were attacking an isolated people and had some luxury of time—such as with Hollow Tree or Victory—most vampires refrained from turning others. Mostly because they couldn’t always control them, and they didn’t like the competition. They could be restrained and clever, sliding right into society.

      But vampires could also be like rabbits. Throw in a reckless, vicious few who didn’t seem to care about competition, and suddenly they’d be coming out of the woodwork…and wild. The feeding here had been a careless one like that.

      A Union guard staggered toward Cole, his head cast to the side. His face was gray, his throat a raw and bleeding mass where something had ripped it away. The three men were at a set distance from one another; they had learned how to watch one another’s backs. Cole moved straight forward, Brendan and Cody flanking him.

      The creature went down easily with a single strong slash of Cole’s sword.

      A boy came next. A drummer boy, perhaps. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen.

      Some distant mother’s child, not dead by canon fire, or the enemy’s intent, but dead when he should have lived to go home one day, and tell his children and grandchildren tales of the great conflagration, and how it had ended in time, when people became reasonable again. What would come, he would never know.

      There was no choice: the boy suddenly hurled himself at Brendan, fangs dripping, an eerie cry tearing from his throat.

      Cole pinned him but inches from his companion’s face. Brendan shuddered and quickly flashed Cole a nod of acknowledgment and gratitude.

      More.

      Older soldiers.

      Even younger soldiers.

      Emaciated, but no longer needing the bandages that had covered their wounds, the splints that held together shattered bones.

      They came.

      And they went down.

      At one point Cole grew particularly tense: at least ten of the maniacal beings flooded into the fray at once. There was so little room in the corridors and offices of the prison, and with this battle different from standard warfare in that the enemy must always be kept at arm’s length, at times he doubted they’d make it out alive.

      In a fury of motion and intent, the three fought together, closing their circle at times, stepping out when it was necessary to repel the attacks before the creatures came too close. Cody could best withstand a slash of the fangs, but it was critical that even he be constantly aware of an assault from any direction.

      It had been worse than this, though, Cole thought, back in Victory, Texas. His thoughts always returned to his decimated hometown. There, the vampires had risen and sheltered, had gained strength and learned how best to survive their new existence. They could be shadow and wings against the umber light of the moon, and they could suddenly be behind a man and everywhere around him with no warning.

      And in Victory there had been those infected who could still be saved. Sometimes vampires retained a certain amount of humanity—call it a soul—that bred a desperate, choking kind of hope when one fought them.

      This prison had been…this had been a massacre. A changing with no guidance. A certainty that all infected would become monsters.

      Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw a flash of darkness—a shadow, a form. Instantly, he knew that this being was older. Clever—bent on survival.

      There was always a head, king or leader in a pack of vampires. Once he was taken down, the rest fell far more easily. An idiot in life was an idiot as a vampire. Pure and simple. Murdering idiots were easy to kill in life, and they were easy to kill off again in death.

      Thing was, sometimes, once a leader was killed, another picked up the reins. Or those who survived an out-and-out fight with human counterparts moved on and subtly started up again until they had power once more. Power in numbers. The right numbers.

      It was a slippery slope for a would-be king. You needed enough followers to perform all your dangerous dirty work, but not so many that people began to realize that a real plague had been unleashed.

      He spun around, certain that the creature was coming to lunge upon his back and sink his fangs into Cole’s neck.

      No. There was nothing there.

      He spun around again, moving swiftly and with maximum speed.

      “Cole!”

      Cody shouted the warning. There was one to the front of him, one to the right. Think quick, double time on movement. Holy water to the left, his sword to the front with a massive slash.

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