John Steakley - Vampire$

He looked down at Jack, sitting forward — hunched forward — with his elbows on his knees.

“Kinda wet, isn’t it?”

The dim figure shrugged, a slight motion in the dark.

Get up, you sonuvabitch! Felix wanted to scream, sudden anger and disgust welling from within him. He was furious with Jack cowering out here and he wanted to grab him and shake him and some part of him knew he was being unfair.

But dammit! Jack was supposed to be the leader of this deal and there were people in there waiting on him. Counting on him.

He tried to calm himself before he spoke, but he knew his tone came out hard. “Time to go, man. Time to do it.”

At first Crow didn’t move. Then he stood up slowly and put his hands on his hips and stared out into the night.

“Got a cigarette?” he whispered harshly.

Felix nodded. “Sure.” He fished out a smoke and handed it over and thumbed his lighter.

Jesus, Jack! he thought when the flame illuminated the man’s face.

For Crow looked tight and drawn and weak and… and beaten.

But he didn’t say anything. And Crow didn’t say anything. He just puffed two or three times on the smoke, still staring into the night. Then Felix felt him take a long deep breath and let it out. Then he tossed the cigarette away into sparks, pulled up his belt, and beaded for the door.

“Come on,” he said gruffly.

So off they went to do the deed and as they walked, Jack leading, Felix trailing behind, a transformation took place. At first Jack looked pitiful and sorry, with his wrinkled shirttail out and his baggy pants wet on the seat from the damp step. The walk wasn’t much better, more like a reluctant lope. But steadily, the pace quickened and those great shoulders thrust up and those powerful hands reached back and thumbed the shirttail in and that big head went up high on his neck and…

And Felix felt himself smiling in amazement. Thirty seconds before he had been disgusted and now he thought: Look at this guy! Look at him, coming through.

By the time the reached the hallway outside the chapel Jack was strutting like a drillmaster. He stopped, abruptly, outside the chapel door and took another deep breath and turned and looked at Felix.

Felix looked back into those same sunken eyes and he saw the pain was still there and the weariness was still there and decided that was probably more impressive then any of it.

Jack nodded questioningly at Felix.

Felix nodded back.

And they went in and did it.

They had Carl’s body wrapped up in some heavy white fabric and laid out on a table up in front by the altar. The bishop was there, surrounded by his robed attendants and that smoking goblet-thing they used and dozens of candles. The women sat in a pew in the back row. The men, Kirk and Cat and a robed Adam, stood by the table.

The whole thing was, Felix had to admit, beautiful. You really needed Catholics for the big stuff.

Jack walked up to the table and Felix took the empty spot beside him. Felix had thought Carl’s body looked awkward lying there. And that’s when he noticed the saw.

The saw was not a saw at all, but a sharp stone fashioned to slip inside a grooved harness that supported the head and neck of the body. “Cutting” consisted of rapping the blunt end of the stone sharply with a heavy wooden mallet which lay there at Jack’s right hand. Beside the mallet was the stake, an intricately carved piece of wood about half the size of a baseball bat and proportionately thinner. In the light from the candles Felix could just read, on the side facing him: “Carl Joplin.” He could see further lettering on the other side of the rounded wood but couldn’t read it.

First were the prayers, not too different from the mass Felix had become used to, but longer somehow.

Or maybe I’m just ready to get it over with, he thought.

And then he thought, Could I do this if I had to?

Can I stand here now while Jack does it?

Then the time was there and Jack Crow reached out and fitted the cutting stone in place and then he grabbed up the mallet and held it high and muttered something Felix couldn’t hear and then the mallet came down and there was an awful “snick” noise and the fabric around the throat separated cleanly and then heavy fluid began to stain the edges.

Jack didn’t pause to tamp the flow with the towel there at his other hand. Instead he grasped the stake, placed it over the heart of one of his dearest comrades, and drove it mightily home with one solid rap.

There were more prayers but Felix didn’t hear them. He didn’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart and wondered if that was fear or hatred of the beasts that made this necessary.

After a while, Felix realized he was the only one still standing there except for the bishop’s men ready to take away the body. He nodded self-consciously and stepped back to give them room. But just before he did he craned his neck around to see the writing on the other side of the stake.

It read: “Not one damned regret.”

“Rome,” said Felix and the entire table went silent.

“Rome,” he repeated. “We’ve got to get to Rome.”

And they looked at him like he was some rude interloper but he really didn’t give a shit. He appreciated the meal and the bishop’s hospitality and he knew damn well everyone had needed this restful few hours in this great house.

But dammit! It was time to face the facts. The vampires were still out there.

Still looking for them.

Still monsters.

Felix turned to Adam. “Can the Church get us there? Right away?”

Adam blinked, stared at him, looked to Crow, who was sitting across from him.

Crow sighed and looked down at his empty plate. He looked tired.

“Okay, Felix,” he said softly, “let’s talk.”

He pushed his heavy chair back from the bishop’s grand table and stood up. He looked at the others around the table.

“Let’s all talk,” he said with a wan smile and motioned them to follow.

Felix hesitated, suspicious, then stood up with the rest of them — including the bishop — and followed Crow into the Common Room. The bishop took his customary chair, a great embroidered something that looked like a throne. Jack sat in a big leather piece beside him. Felix remained standing next to the great hearth. The rest of them took seats around the huge pile of Team equipment piled up in the center of the room. They had brought it with them along with Carl’s remains. Crossbows and crossbow bolts and pikes and spare pistols and several cases of silver bullets. The stack was a mess because that’s the way they had loaded it into the motorhome and that’s the way they had brought it into the house because there hadn’t really been enough room in the motorhome to store it the way they had — far from Carl’s body.

But somehow that had seemed important at the time.

When they were all settled and cigarettes were lit and attendants had found the necessary ashtrays…

“All right, Felix,” began Jack Crow, “let’s hear it.”

Felix paused a moment, trying to read Jack’s eyes. Was there a challenge in there somewhere? Anything?

Whatever.

And he got down to it:

They were being hunted. They didn’t know who was hunting them or where they were. All they had was a clue that somebody had taken over Davette’s house and even if that was correct… If that was correct, they still didn’t have enough people to take the target.

“I would have no idea whatsoever how to blow that wall the way Carl planned. Does anybody else know explosives that well?”

There was a pause before they all shook their heads.

Felix nodded, satisfied.