Tim Lebbon - 30 Days of Night - Fear of the Dark

The shooting continued but it was more fragmented now, and Marty assumed it was because the number of targets was fewer.

Rose, come and get me, he thought. You’re my guardian angel, my protector, you’ve kept me alive when Mum and Dad have been killed so come and get me now, bring your friends and come and get me . But outside it must still be daylight. There was no Rose, and no guardian angel.

A door thumped open, a pause, and then there was a brief rattle of gunfire from close by. The shouting man next door quietened for a moment, then started banging again, and Marty was sure he was yelling, Let me out, let me out, over and over.

Then he heard a sound that was already familiar—a cell door smashing open. Soon after that, another burst of gunfire.

After a few seconds, another cell door opened. The shouting man was silenced at last by a gunshot.

Marty heard keys scrape at his door and then it swung outward, crashing against the wall, and framed in the doorway was the woman police constable who had brought him a drink only an hour before. She still didn’t speak, but looked utterly terrified, blood streaking the left side of her face. Behind her, the massive bulk of Stoner suddenly filled the doorway.

He pushed the WPC into the room, bent to look inside, saw Marty, grinned, then shot the WPC in the back of the head.

Marty squeezed his eyes closed, but not quite quickly enough. He saw what the bullet did to her face, and felt the spray of blood and other stuff patter across his own face and throat.

“Got him!” Stoner shouted, his voice surprisingly high. Then, more quietly, “After this, you better know where the Bane is. Come here, you little fuck.”

“Eat shit,” Marty said, eyes still squeezed shut. He was shaking, and what he’d said even surprised himself. A huge hand closed around his ankle and pulled him from the raised cot. He flipped back and banged his head, groaning as his senses started to swim, then drown.

Moments later, he was being dragged across the floor behind Stoner. To his left and right, Marty saw several bodies, some of them still moving. Then he was lifted up again and propped against a notice board, Stoner holding him there with one big hand.

“Duval wants a chat,” the tall woman from his street said, so matter-of-fact that Marty half smiled. She was high as a kite.

The woman grinned at his smile and whispered, “It’s almost dusk.”

FIVE MINUTES EARLIER, as Rose and Francesco had sensed the sun dipping down below the horizon, Lee had heard the news. Gunfire at Lewisham Police Station. Panic. People dying.

The vampires’ servants were going for Marty, just as she had feared. Time was running out for him… and for them.

“You have lots of boxes of very big ammunition,” Francesco said. “Do you have the guns to match?” He was standing by an open cupboard in the corner of the basement. Rose knew that tonight would bring more chaos than she had encountered or even dreamt of as a vampire. Francesco was preparing.

“They’re in a gun locker hidden behind a false panel in my library,” Lee said.

“Get them,” Francesco said.

“How many?”

“However many you feel comfortable with. We won’t be carrying them.”

Lee folded his laptop, and halfway up the wooden staircase he paused and turned back to the Humains.

“So… what can I use?”

“Forget everything you think you know,” Francesco said. “Leave your crosses and garlic spray, leave your holy-water pistols. Bring the biggest guns and load them with the biggest bullets. You have dumdums?”

“Homemade.”

“Good.”

“Bullets will stop a vampire?” Lee asked doubtfully.

“Big ones, yes, if fired at the right place. Long enough for the head to be destroyed.”

Lee darted upstairs, and Rose heard the door open.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Plan?” Francesco looked at her and smiled, almost lovingly. “Rose, sometimes you put too much faith in me. I’m old, but this has never been my way. I kept to myself in the early years, feeding when I needed, traveling, feeding some more. Sometimes I met other vampires, and on occasion I became aware of… greater stories taking place. Alliances and betrayals. Battles, and ambitions that to me always seemed apart from what a vampire was meant to be. But this…” He waved his hand at Lee’s subterranean torture chamber, as if that encompassed everything else he had avoided. “I can feign wisdom for the Humains, and I know I’m seen as the leader of our loose-knit little gang. But as for any kind of a plan, I’m at a loss.”

“We have to do everything to stop them getting the Bane.”

“Yes.”

“We have to get to the British Museum before the vampires do.”

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

“Tell me if you have any great ideas,” Francesco said.

Rose was not disappointed in Francesco. In a way she found it quite touching that he was admitting his lack of knowledge to her. But she did have an idea, and she wasn’t sure how he would take it.

“So, what are you thinking, Rose?” he asked. Perceptive as ever.

“We know that Lee is in touch with the Olemaun woman.”

Francesco raised an eyebrow and sneered, “She wrote that book .”

“You can’t deny she has knowledge.”

“And you want to talk to her?”

“If I can. If I can do it now, before we go. Anything she can tell us could help. A weakness they have, anything about the Bane, any clue she has as to who these vampires might be. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“And you think she’ll be sitting on the end of a phone, awaiting your call?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Francesco looked as if he were about to forbid the contact—she could see that in his stance, his expression, and how he held up one hand to wave her idea away—but then he set aside his pride. He’d already opened himself up to her, and to backtrack now and try to take control would only make him appear foolish.

It would make him look like one of them.

“You can try,” he said.

Rose nodded her thanks, then heard Lee descending the stairs again. She’d expected him to return with some massive weapons—a Gatling gun, rocket launchers, bazookas. Instead he had a holster slung over each shoulder bearing a heavy-looking handgun, and another weapon was tucked in his belt.

“They’re your big guns?” she asked.

“Trust me,” he said.

“Do whatever you need to do,” Francesco said. “We have five minutes, then we’re leaving. There’s not much time.”

“You keep saying that,” Lee murmured.

“Then get a fucking move on!” Francesco growled. The mortal cringed back against the wall, and Rose touched Francesco’s arm.

“Ease up on him,” she said.

Francesco said nothing, but he glanced at Lee and gently shrugged off Rose’s hand.

“Lee, I need to use your email,” Rose said.

“Checking your lottery numbers?” he asked, opening the laptop and tapping a few keys. His voice was high and uneven. His shoulders shook, he lowered his head, then the laughter came, loud and brash. Rose was surprised to find herself smiling, but most of it was at Lee’s coping technique rather than what he’d said. He was impressive. She’d never been out with a black guy when she’d been mortal, and perhaps that was because of her parents’ old-fashioned upbringing rubbing off on her a little. She surprised herself now by regretting that.

Too late now .

“I need your account open,” she said.

“Which one?” He wiped his eyes, quickly growing stern again.

“The one you use to communicate with Stella Olemaun.”