I laid the blades out next. The machete that was my favorite for beheading, mostly chickens, but I’d used it on vampires a time or two. The two smaller blades that fitted into wrist sheaths. They had higher silver content than a normal knife. They were also balanced for my hands. They sat on the floor in their custom sheaths, fitted for my muscular but small forearms. I had one extra knife that was an in-between size that I’d started carrying since they made me wear the vest. It fitted into the Velcro straps of the MOLLE system on the vest.
Ammunition next, laying out extra magazines for each gun. I liked to have at least two per gun. Three was better, but it was a matter of space. For the shotgun I had a stock mag attached to the butt of the Mossberg that held extra shells. I had a box of shells per shotgun, too.
The last thing was two wooden stakes and a small mallet. That was all that would fit on me and in the backpack.
“That’s not a lot of wooden stakes,” Hooper said.
“I don’t use the stakes unless it’s a morgue execution; then legally that’s one of the approved methods for carrying out the warrant. But honestly, you just have to take the heart and the head, even in the morgue. Most executioners use blades or metal spikes; they go through meat and bone easier than wood.”
“You don’t use the stakes for hunts?” Grimes asked.
“Almost never,” I said.
The three men exchanged a look.
“I take it from that look that your local executioner was a stake-and-hammer man.”
“We were told that most of them are,” Grimes said.
I smiled and shook my head. “That’s the official line, Lieutenant, but trust me, most of us are silver-bullet- and-blade men.”
“Tony didn’t believe that any vampire was really dead until he staked them,” Rocco said.
I picked up the Mossberg. “All you have to do is take the heart and head. Trust me, every gun sitting here will do the job.”
“Even the Smith and Wesson?” Rocco asked.
“I’d have to reload, but eventually, yeah.”
“How many times would you have to reload?” Grimes asked.
I looked down at the Smith amp; Wesson. “The Browning has to be reloaded twice, and it holds about twice as much as the Smith and Wesson, so probably I’d have to reload four times, but I could do it. Waste a hell of a lot of ammo, though.” I lifted the Mossberg. “The shotguns and the MP5 are my choice for an actual execution, but I can do it with almost everything in my kit.” I looked down at everything. “I wouldn’t actually want to try to decapitate someone with either of the wrist sheath knives, but they’ll reach most vampires’ hearts.”
I put the shotgun down and opened another bag. I got my vest and helmet out. I really hated the helmet, even more than the vest. I was up against things that could tear my head off my body, so the helmet seemed a little silly to me, but it was part of the new SOP for us. I couldn’t wait to see what they’d make us wear, or carry, next.
“So you just have the stakes because they insist on you carrying some of them,” Grimes said.
“I follow the rules, Lieutenant, even if I don’t agree with them.”
“I don’t see any metal spikes,” Hooper said.
“I don’t do morgue stakings if I can help it, and outside that, I trust the guns.” I took off my suit jacket and started taking off my shoulder rig. It wouldn’t fit under the vest, or rather I couldn’t get to the weapons on the rig once the vest went over everything.
“Wait,” Grimes said.
I turned and looked at him.
“Move your hair off your back, please.”
I moved the nearly waist-length hair so they could see my back. I knew what he’d seen.
“That knife is almost as long as you are from shoulder to waist,” he said, “and you’ve been wearing it the whole time.”
“Yep.” I let my hair fall back, and like magic, the blade was nearly invisible. Add a suit jacket or a heavy shirt, and it was.
“You have any more surprises on you, Marshal Blake?” he asked.
“No.”
“How easy is it to draw?”
“Easy enough that I’ve had this sheath design redone for me three times, so I could keep carrying it this way.”
“Why do you need to have it redone?” Rocco asked.
“Emergency room trips. They always cut everything off if you aren’t able-bodied enough to stop them.”
“That where you got the arm scars?” Hooper asked.
I looked down at my arms, as if I’d just noticed the old injuries. I touched the mound of scar tissue at my left elbow. “Vampire.” I touched the thin scars that started just below it. “Shapeshifted witch.” The cross-shaped burn scar was criss-crossed by the scars, so the cross was a little crooked on one side. “Human servants of a vampire. They branded me. Thought it was funny.” I turned to my right arm. “Knife fight with a master vampire’s human servant.” I undid my belt so that I could slip the shoulder rig off, then I held the rig with the gun and knife still on it and used my other hand to lower my shirt from one shoulder. “Same vampire that did my elbow bit through my collarbone, broke it.” I pushed the shoulder of my shirt up to show the small shiny scar on it. “Bad guy’s girlfriend shot me.” Then I smiled, because what else could I do. “We’ll have to be better friends for you to see the other scars.”
Grimes and Hooper looked a little uncomfortable, but Rocco didn’t. We’d passed the point where a little hint could embarrass us. We’d already seen too far inside each other’s private lives for that to faze either of us. It was a strange, instant kind of intimacy, what we’d done. I didn’t like it much. I couldn’t tell how Rocco felt about it. He hadn’t liked me peeking at him and his wife, that was all I knew for sure.
I started to put on the vest.
“Are you about to suit up?” Grimes asked.
I looked at him over the collar of the vest; I hadn’t fastened the Velcro yet. “I was, why?”
“Unless the vampire you’re hunting is inside with Sheriff Shaw, you’ll just have to take it off to talk to him.”
“They won’t let me wear full gear in the police station?” I made it a question.
“Carrying all that, they’ll stop you at the front. You’ll never get into an interrogation room dressed for battle,” Rocco said.
I sighed and slipped the vest back over my head. “Fine, I hate the vest and helmet, anyway. I’ll carry them in a bag.”
“The vest and helmet will save your life,” Grimes said.
“If I weren’t hunting things that could peel the vest like an onion and crush the helmet, with my head in it, like an eggshell, maybe. I love having a badge and being part of the Marshals Service, but whoever is making the rules keeps making us rig up like we’re hunting human beings. Trust me, what we’ll hunt here in Vegas isn’t human.”
“What would you wear if you had your choice?” Grimes asked.
“Maybe something that was better at stopping slashing. Nothing works good enough against a stabbing attack yet. But honestly, I’d carry the weapons and leave the protective gear at home if I were going in with just me. I move faster without the vest, and speed will usually save my life more than the vest.”
“Do you have trouble moving in full gear?” Grimes asked.
“The damn thing weighs around fifty pounds.”
“Which is what, half your body weight?” he asked.
I nodded. “About that, I weigh one-ten.”
“That would be like putting a hundred-pound vest on most of us. We wouldn’t be able to move, either.”
Hooper was the one to ask it. “How badly do you move in the vest?”
“I can’t tell what’s going on with you guys. I keep expecting you to rush me to the hospital to see your men, or to Shaw to get this started, but you’re checking me out.”
“We’re about to trust you with our lives on a hunt that’s already killed three of our operators. Speed won’t bring them back. Rushing things won’t wake up the men in the hospital. All speed will do is get more of my team
