The Isis Collar

Dawna proudly pulled out one of her brand-new stakes. “I have my own! What do I do first?”

Alex turned to her, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Get out of that ridiculous outfit and put on something you don’t care about.”

I fought back a smile. Alex had done in one sentence what I’d been struggling to find a way to say. Dawna looked gorgeous, as always. A yellow scrunchie held her hair in a perfect ponytail. The apricot bodysuit was cut high on the hips and made her tawny skin glow, while simultaneously matching the bunched leg warmers. The striped tights brought the two colors together and even matched the piping on her sparkling white sneakers. Totally perfect for either a spinning class at the gym or a Jazzercise video. But for staking training? Um … not so much. “She’s right, Dawna. No fashion plates at this party. Look at us. We both look like crap.”

I’d gone for black warm-ups because, like navy, they don’t show blood. There would be blood—well, of a sort. There were packets of red, mint-scented slime inside the ballistics gel. Drive the stake in far enough and the mannequin bleeds. Hit it with enough force to kill a bat and it sprays you. Part of the exercise is to make sure you can keep going when the stake is slippery or you’re wiping sticky liquid out of your eyes. Same theory as when police academies spray trainees with pepper spray and make them keep chasing a suspect. Life sucks when you’re going up against the bad guys who want you to hurt.

Dawna’s face fell. “But I bought the outfit just for this morning. It’s pretty.”

Alex just shrugged. “No question. It’s stunning. But it’ll be ruined. Fake blood just doesn’t come out of nylon. You’ll have to throw it away after. Is that all you’ve got with you?”

She nodded and I moved away from the wall. “C’mon. You can wear my gray sweats. They’ve got a drawstring waist and I don’t care if they get stained.”

Her sad little pout went away when the computer on the dummy finally reset and a screen set where the nose would be displayed: Ready for first opponent. Choose level. Then all of a sudden she was dragging me to the bedroom. “C’mon! It’s ready. I want to start learning this stuff.”

* * *

“Ow! Okay, you know what? This just sucks! I don’t like staking.” Dawna dropped the stake and used her red-stained fingernails to pull another splinter from her palm.

Alex responded by handing Dawna one of the ash stakes from her sash. “And now you know why we pay to get our stakes turned and sanded. Raw wood has splinters. I can give you the name of the guy who does this for a lot of us on the force. He’s a retired cabinetmaker and does it for cheap. Five bucks a stake and he’ll fit the hilt to your hand.”

I handed a pair of needle-nose tweezers over. I’d pulled the first three from her palms because I have better eyesight, but she needed to get used to doing it herself. “Alex is right. Don’t play the hero today. Of course, if you have no other choice when you’re in the field, use what you have. Splinters won’t matter. But for now, use the good ones. A bad first experience will make you want to stop training.”

She nodded. “Oh, it already has. This is hard. I can’t even get the right angle to drive it in to hit the blinking light.”

Alex put a hand on her shoulder in a sisterly, non-patronizing way. “Look, why don’t you sit down and I’ll show you some of the tricks I’ve learned. We’re about the same size and I’ll explain as I go.”

Again Dawna brightened and she nodded. “Okay. Maybe that will help.”

I was closest to the mannequin and reached up to press the selector switch. Ready for Opponent Two. Choose level. “What do you want? Level six?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Rack it up to eight. I need to prove to my lieutenant it was a good workout.”

Wow. I let out a low whistle. “Man. I’m not even sure I can pull off a level-eight workout. I’ll be interested to watch.” I was about to press the start button and step back when she raised a hand.

“Wait. I need to scan my badge to save the data.” She reached for her purse that was still slung over the dolly and pulled out the black leather wallet with her badge. I didn’t realize there was a bar code in the holder now. When she held it up in front of the screen, it displayed her name and badge number, then scrolled: Welcome, Heather. Prepare to defend yourself.

She tossed me the badge. Her hands dangled at her sides; her weight rested on the balls of her feet. I sat down next to Dawna and my friend asked, “Why does it say, ‘defend yourself’ on the screen? And why hasn’t she pulled out a stake?”

“She’s a cop,” I whispered, encouraging Dawna to do the same so we didn’t distract Alex. “Cops can only pull a weapon when there’s no other choice and the opponent has demonstrated it’s a vampire. The dummy will hiss and the screen will show a pair of fangs and only then is she allowed to attack.” That wasn’t all, of course, but I didn’t have time to finish my explanation. The dummy abruptly sprang forward, dipping toward Alex, fast and hard. The thick, coiled spring that formed the lower part of the dummy stretched with a squeak and a male shout came from its speakers: “Get away from me!”

Alex leapt to the side, pushing the dummy back upright. She moved back until she almost reached the edge of the pad.

“Ahh! What the hell?” At the dummy’s first move, Dawna had raised her feet onto the couch. Now she stared with wide eyes. “What’s happening? It didn’t do that to me.”

I leaned closer to her, likewise curling my legs onto the couch to give Alex that little extra bit of room while the dummy tracked her movements, turning on its swivel to keep facing her. It slammed forward again, nearly touching the mat, trying to knock her off her feet. “You were only on level one,” I said. “On levels one through three, the dummy just sits there quietly and lets you shove the stake into it. You get sound on level three. Levels four through six add movement. The dummy tries to get away from the stake, so you have to fight harder to get it into the heart. Levels seven through nine have the dummy attack you. Level ten is … well, actually, I’ve never seen level ten. I have no idea what happens.”

Alex spun and kicked, hitting the looming dummy in the chest and knocking it backward on its spring. It moved with preternatural quickness back to upright, which is why the computer chip has to be bespelled. Strange as it seems, regular computer programs struggle with supernatural speed. Then she spoke. “Pause. Hold position. Teaching mode.” The dummy stopped moving and the screen started blinking pause. Alex commented as she circled the dummy. “What you’re seeing right now, Dawna, is a suspect I might come upon in the field. I don’t know who or what it might be, except its shown aggression. Not every suspect who shows aggression is necessarily guilty of something, so I have to proceed with caution.” She pointed to spots on the dummy’s body. “There are mini-cameras set into the dummy here and here, recording my actions for our weapons master to review. Then he can suggest changes to my strategy or my form.

“Now I’m going to go back to the training mode and I’ll start to treat the dummy like a real person. I’ll be talking to it, trying to get the suspect to voluntarily surrender, to allow me to approach. At up to level six, that can work if I’m persuasive enough. But on level eight, the suspect will continue to attack and eventually will show fangs. Then I’m allowed to stake it. Until that happens, it’s going to try to beat the crap out of me and will probably get in a few good shots. Just stay on the couch unless I get knocked unconscious. Then you can yell, ‘Uncle,’ and it’ll stop. If I’m bleeding or you can’t wake me, call an ambulance. But so far I haven’t been knocked out at this level.” She looked over at us. I nodded, and glanced at Dawna. Her eyes were showing too much white and her mouth was open, her jaw slack. I could see the pulse in her neck fluttering frantically and smell her fear.

I patted her hand and she jumped. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’d thought the dummy would bother her less than seeing a real person spar with one of us, but maybe this was too much, too soon. “Sweetie, if this is going to freak you out, we don’t have to use this level.”

She turned to me, eyes still wide, then blinked and shook her head. “No. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting the voice. Will it keep yelling at you?”

Alex and I shared a look. We both knew that on level eight yelling wasn’t going to be the biggest issue. Swearing, screams of pain, and piteously begging the cop not to kill it were also part of the program. Crap. Dawna just wasn’t ready for that. Heck, the screams and begging had given me nightmares for a month the first time I trained with my friend Bob Johnson … on level six. “Can you mute it?”

Alex gave a small, sympathetic nod. “Sure. No problem. That’s available for use in residential areas where the noise might bother the neighbors.” She stared at the dummy’s main camera again. “Detective Heather Alexander. Change program. Silent mode. Residential area.” A small display in the upper left-hand corner of the screen dutifully appeared. Confirmed for police training. Mute.