they all looked down the hill. He took coils of rope from the duffels strapped to the ATVs, tied them to the bumper of the Hummer, and tossed the ends over the edge. Overhead the storm clouds had thinned and there was a hint of moonlight, just enough to paint pale silver on the descending line of shrubs. They lingered at the top for only a moment, and then without a further word they started down the hill, using the ropes as guidelines but moving fast, hurrying toward the swamp.
Chapter 47
(1)
“Party time!” Vic said.
Jonatha heard the faint squeak of a hinge and turned to see the two tall cabinets beside the door open. Two men stepped out, both of them grinning at Vic’s little joke.
“Jonatha! Look out!” she heard Newton shout through the open doorway, but his call ended in a choking cough.
Jonatha screamed and brought her shotgun up as one of the monsters lunged at her. There was a huge explosion and the recoiling stock hit her hard in the stomach. The vampire fell on her and bore her to the floor; she landed hard and shoved at him, and was surprised when the creature just rolled off and lay still. Then she saw the ragged red hole in its chest, and understood.
She scrambled to a sitting position and swung the gun around, but the trigger clicked empty. She’d forgotten to jack in a new round, and the other vampire simply snatched the weapon from her hands.
“Stupid bitch,” Vic said.
“She killed Marty!” complained the remaining vampire. “What the hell she have in that gun?”
“Probably garlic,” Vic drawled, and laughed as the vampire suddenly thrust the gun away, not wanting to be anywhere near it. “Go outside and play,” Vic suggested. “I’ll take care of LaKisha here.”
The vampire looked from her to its dead companion, and then with a hiss it leapt past Jonatha and plowed into the crowd of stunned onlookers. The creature grabbed the nurse and clamped its jaws around her throat; blood sprayed the wall. The patients screamed and panicked, colliding with gurneys and wheelchairs and each other. The vampire laughed wildly, tossed the nurse’s body against the wall, and laughed like a happy kid as he chased an old lady down the hall.
Jonatha screeched in horror and fury and made a try for the shotgun, but Vic Wingate backhanded her with shocking force and speed. She pirouetted dizzily and crashed into a row of cabinets, but before she should fall Vic caught her under the armpit, spun her around, and jammed his pistol into her stomach.
“Whoa there, girlie-girl,” he wheezed. “I’ve been having a really bad day. I’ve been just hoping and praying for something to come along to cheer me up. Shows you I’m still in the groove.” He held the pistol in his burned hand and with his other he caressed the curve of her cheek.
In the hall, the vampire was bent over, feeding off the old lady, ignoring the other patients. When he felt the old woman’s heart give out, he plucked her off the floor and threw her at two other patients, who went down in a bone-breaking tumble. He rose and kicked a wheelchair over and stomped down on the head of the old man who toppled out of it. The old man’s head exploded and the vampire smiled. He was at the height of his powers after the long night of killing and feeding. He could kill all of these people if he wanted. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Vic playing with his new toy, and he smiled.
The vampire turned back to the crowd and grabbed the struts on the nearest gurney, on which lay a small man with a pain-gray face. The vampire froze in place, his hands still on the struts. The little man on the gurney was pointing a pistol at him. It was a huge Ruger Blackhawk and its mouth stared blackly at the vampire from less than six feet away. There was no way for the vampire to know if the gun was loaded with ordinary bullets or more garlic, and he paused in uncertainty. Terror and pain were painted all over the patient’s features and his eyes were glassy with fever.
The vampire smiled.
The man smiled.
The vampire lunged at him and the man shot him through the eye.
The blast threw the vampire backward, all life extinguished in a single moment as the garlic-filled dum-dum punched through his brain; the recoil pitched the patient back onto the bed with a chest-jarring thump. Newton dropped the pistol and clutched his shattered chest with both hands as new pain detonated within him.
Vic Wingate made Jonatha back up step by step until they were both at the door. He could see the hallway beyond and he saw the last of his bodyguards go down with his head half blown away. Vic kicked the door shut in the faces of the terrified patients. Keeping the gun in place, he released Jonatha with the other and reached out to turn the lock.
Jonatha knew she was going to die. She knew she was going to die badly, because she had a good idea who this man was—a man with a burned face who worked with the vampires. It had to be the kid’s stepfather. It had to be Vic Wingate. The thought terrified her so severely that she felt horror trying to pull her down into darkness. What was it the kid had said? Vic is Griswold’s right hand. It was Vic who rigged all the explosions. It was Vic who took care of Griswold all these years, who protected him. Vic had been behind most of what happened all along.
Vic saw the defeat in her eyes and licked his blistered lips. His good eye crawled up and down her. “My, my,” he said, “You are something. Just what the doctor ordered, ’cause it’s been a real bitch of a day.”
He backed her up to the examination table; her hip hit it hard and he moved so close to her that she breathed his exhaled breath. Vic put his free hand on her chest, cupping her breasts and hefting their weight. “My oh my oh my, but you are something else. You’re half unreal, you know that, girlie-girl? You’re like a gift from Heaven, you are. You just came down from Heaven to be with ol’Vic. You’re what a sick man needs to feel good. Shame you’re a nigger, but what the hell, it’s all pink inside.” Open sores oozed clear mucus on his face as he leered at her.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged as tears welled from her eyes. Her heart hammered to get out of her chest. “Please.”
“Well, well, it is nice to hear you say please.” He licked his lips again and his hand never stopped touching her. He sought out her nipples and pinched them and laughed as she yelped and flinched. Jonatha wanted to throw up. She wanted to run, but she felt as if all the power had been sucked out of her muscles by his invading touch. “Say it again. C’mon, girlie-girl, say it again.”
“P…please…”
“Again.”
“Please!”
“Again.”
“Please, for God’s sake! Please!”
“Well, since you ask so nice…” and he grabbed the collar of her sweatshirt and gave it a vicious and powerful jerk. Cloth ripped and his fingernails scraped painfully across her sternum. The gun barrel pressed harder as he ripped and tore at the cloth, shredded it, exposing her upper breasts and the white bra, and all the time he muttered a kind of chant that sent cold chills racing up and down her spine. “Here it comes. Oh boy, here it comes. Here it comes now…”
She saw the specter of death looming above Vic’s shoulder, she saw it grinning through his melted face and
