Fall of the Mortals (Book 1) (14 page)

“You see these rooms, Chris?” asked Terry.

“What about ’em?” answered Chris.

“My dad, uncle and grandpa chiseled all these out by themselves,” stated Terry. “This cave goes way back with my family. It’s my heritage.”

“Cool,” said Chris. “What did you guys use these rooms for?”

Terry glanced at Curtis. He didn’t answer.

“Did you look good in that room for it, Terry?” asked Curtis.

Terry shined his light into the room again. There was nothing but some old food storage, a blanket and an old bag of dog food.

“I’m not seeing it,” answered Terry.

“Damn!” hollered Curtis. “It’s got to freaking be here.”

Terry looked through the other rooms off the tunnel.

“I think I found something,” said Terry, lit up with excitement, dashing into one of the rooms at the far end of the tunnel.

Terry came out with a medium sized camping cooler in his arms with a big grin on his face. Chris wondered what was in a camping cooler that was so important. Terry set down the cooler and opened the lid. Curtis kept his light on it. There were several bags of a crystal-like substance inside sandwich baggies. They were plump full of the stuff.

“That’s what I’m talking about right there!” said Terry, smiling, holding one of the baggies up as if he had just found gold.

“What is that stuff?” asked Chris.

“It’s crystal, dude,” answered Curtis.

“Crystal meth?” asked Chris.

Terry and the bikers laughed.

“I think Chris gets an A for the day,” said Billy, still chuckling.

“It’s dope, little brother,” said Terry. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Uh no,” answered Chris hesitantly.

Terry pulled out a stiletto knife making the blade come up and forced Chris against the side of the tunnel wall. He put the blade up to Chris’ nose. Terry looked furious, glaring at Chris, gnashing. Chris’s face was scared.

“Good, because let me tell you something, little brother. You say a word about this to anyone, I mean anyone, and I will freaking kill you,” said Terry, threateningly. “You got that?”

Chris was stunned and petrified. He didn’t know what to say or think. His eyes were frightened and just looked back at Terry’s angry face. 

“You talk to that ex-cop friend of yours, Shaun, and you’re dead, homie,” said Terry. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, man,” answered Chris, scared as hell, fearing Terry was going to cut him at any second. “I get you. No problem.”

“Ease up on the kid,” said Curtis. “He gets the point.”

Terry retracted the knife and backed off.

“Hey Chris, dude. We’re a band, the seven of us. We’re a brotherhood. What we do is our business,” said Curtis in a justifying tone. “Do you feel me?”

“Yeah man. Totally,” Chris responded. “And I want you to know I got no problem with any of this.”

“Cool beans, little brother,” said Terry in a friendly tone as if his intimidation stunt never happened. “Now help up get this stuff out of here, alright?” Taking Chris’ hand in a locked handshake, he pulled him close and hugged him.

“You know it, big brother,” answered Chris, smiling.

“Good news, boys!” Trent exclaimed behind them in the wide room.

The bikers stepped back into the living area giving Trent plenty of room. He set a long but narrow wooden box on the floor.

“I found ’em!” said Trent. “Billy? Shane? Set the others down next to mine,” said Trent in a cheery tone.

“Yeah!” said Curtis. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Terry looked around and picked up a crowbar. Chris stood wondering what was in the wooden boxes.

“Step back, Trent,” said Terry, stepping in and wedging the crowbar in between the one-inch thick wooden lid and front panel of the box.

The lip popped off. There were several Mp5 submachine guns in the box. Chris stood stunned with amazement but didn’t dare try to touch them. Terry and Curtis each took one out. They aimed them and dry fired.

“Too bad those blood suckers won’t drop from one of these,” said Terry, impressed with his weapon.

“Awesome. Where did you guys get these?” asked Chris, wide eyed and intrigued by the weapons.

“Let’s just say that I had a friend named Pedro and Curtis had a friend named Julio that lived across the border,” said Terry. “We did some
business
together.”

“Last thing you do is buy and sell without these things on your Harley somewhere,” said Curtis, “especially if you bring it in from across the border.”

“How did you guys bring the stuff in from Mexico on your motorcycles without getting caught?”

“Oh, we got caught, dude. Those Mexican po-po’s were on our asses many times,” said Trent, holding a machine gun in one hand as if he was a bad-ass mercenary.

“Did you go to a Mexican jail?” asked Chris.

“Hell no. We weren’t about to let a bunch of taco tossers put us down,” Terry boasted.

“That’s what these were for, little buddy,” Curtis bragged, waving his muzzle in the air. “Bam, bam, bam. End of story. Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” answered Chris, watching the bikers thinking they were the coolest and baddest guys he ever met.

“Trent? You, Shane and Billy box up the Mp5s,” said Terry, stacking up the ammo on the floor in the living area. “We’re taking ’em back to the tower with us.”

“Terry and I will handle the ammo,” said Curtis, placing the guns in the box.

“You got it,” said Trent.

***

On the road, Shaun noticed the Interstate sign above them that stated
Mojave Freeway  ½ mile
. They entered the canyon leaving the Los Angeles County area. Shaun watched for a bus. He began to feel anxious not seeing the bus that Sharon mentioned. He drove around another bend. A tour bus with a decal
California Tourin’
on the sides was off the side of the road.

“Hey! Check it out!” hollered Thai. “A tour bus!”

Shaun acted surprised and pulled over behind the bus. He was impressed. So far, Sharon had kept her end of the bargain.

“Wonder if it runs?” said Yuri.

They stepped out of the car and looked around for anything suspicious. Shaun carried Harold’s shotgun. Yuri and Thai both pulled out handguns and checked them.

They approached the bus’s door. Shaun slid it open. The smell of something horrible billowed out from the bus. They covered their noses and stepped back in disgust. They withstood the odor and stepped up the three stairs to enter the cabin. The bus driver was dead and decomposing in his seat. He looked like a male in his fifties. He was overweight. The skin on his face was shriveled. His mouth gaped open; his lips were purple and black. His eyes were still halfway open; his eyeballs looked off to the side in a permanent stare. He was slumped over on the steering wheel. He had been there for a while.

They removed the driver and laid him on the ground gently. Thai and Yuri walked down the narrow aisle in the cabin. They were repulsed at the sight of thirteen passengers – men, women and children – who were dead on board. They were slumped over in their seats with their throats cut. Their skin was also wrinkled and had a faded yellowish tone, their lips purple and blue. Some of them had opened eyes, others’ eyes were closed. There was coagulated blood on their shirts and in their laps.

“Good Lord,” said Thai, covering his nose.

“Not everyone killed by a vampire turns into one,” said Yuri.

“Why is that?” asked Thai.

“It’s a supernatural effect that happens between the fangs and the blood of the neck vain,” Yuri answered. “These people were just murdered.”

“It just seems like such a waste. Why would they just kill them?” asked Thai.

“To feed.”

“On what?” asked Thai.

“Innocence,” answered Yuri.

Shaun came into the bus.

“It’s pretty bad down here,” said Thai.

“How many?” Shaun asked.

“Thirteen,” said Yuri.

Shaun started up the engine. The bus seemed to be in good condition. He walked down the aisle and looked over the dead passengers.

“What shall we do with them?” asked Yuri.

“What else can we do? It’s going to be a quick funeral,” answered Shaun.

***

Shaun carried his gas can to a pile they’d made of the fourteen dead bodies of the driver and passengers and poured gasoline all over them. Thai and Yuri stood quietly and watched. Shaun pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicked the wick and tossed it onto them. The fire caught quickly and the pile of the dead was soon entirely consumed in flames. They watched the bodies burn for a moment.

“Was this the right thing to do?” asked Thai.

“At least now they can rest in peace,” said Shaun.

“I agree. Nothing will bother them anymore,” said Yuri.

“Okay guys, here’s the deal. Terry and his guys aren’t to know about the bus,” said Shaun, tossing Thai the keys to the Ferrari.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Yuri.

“I’m hiding it until I make contact with Rick Mason again,” answered Shaun. “As soon as I do, we need to take off. All of us.”

“You think Harold is going to go for it?” asked Thai.

“He has to. I’ll persuade him if he doesn’t,” answered Shaun. “See you back at the tower.”

“You going to be okay in that thing?” asked Thai.

“Just stay behind me,” answered Shaun.

“How will you hide a tour bus from the bikers?” asked Yuri.

“He’s right, Shaun,” Thai added. “They’ll know what we’re up to.”

“I’m parking a few blocks away off of Grande Avenue,” Shaun answered. “Just remember, the bus thing is secret. It stays between us, okay? I really need you guys’ trust on this.”

“Don’t worry. You can count on us, Shaun,” Thai smiled.

Yuri got into the Ferrari with Thai. Shaun started up the bus. They turned around and headed back to the tower.

***

Shaun drove the bus up Grand Avenue. He knew that, if he parked it on the south side of the building across the street from the tower, it would be well hidden and not easily seen.  He turned left and drove up a narrow street. He parked the bus and looked around for any bikers out for a ride who may spot him. The coast was clear. He exited the bus and jogged down the street. He kept a watchful eye out for anyone who may wonder what he was up to.

***

At the crashed helicopter, Shaun leaned over the pilot seat, picked up the mic and turned through the channels. There was a lot of static.

“C’mon, you piece of junk. Work!”

He turned another channel.

“This is Shaun Grazer. Rick Mason? Are you there?” he said into the mic.

No response.

“Rick Mason. Come in. Do you copy?”

No one answered.

“Mason. Anyone. Anyone out there. Come in. Does anyone read me?”

Still no response. Shaun threw the mic down in frustration. He rubbed his forehead. He began to feel he was being far too unrealistic, for the first time.
What the hell was I thinking? Did I actually think if I got us a ride out of here everything else would go like clockwork? I’m such a damn idiot
.

The frustrations overwhelmed him. Getting everybody out of there in time before a nuclear strike weighed him down. He was stuck in between a rock and hard place with no exits. Shaun began to feel depressed and sunk into despair.

There was some static on the radio and some distorted voices. Shaun’s eyes perked up. He grabbed the mic and dropped it again, clumsily, in sheer excitement.

“Hello?” a man’s voice said over the radio.

Shaun filled with exhilaration and grabbed the mic off the floor.

“Hello! Can you hear me?” he exclaimed. 

“I sure can,” replied the voice. “Who is this?”

“Oh, thank God. Is this Rick Mason?” Shaun asked.

There was a pause.

“Rick. Is that you?” Shaun asked again, waiting anxiously for a response.

“Yes. This is Rick Mason,” said the voice in a dry tone with no enthusiasm.

“It’s Shaun Grazer. We’ve spoken before, a couple of months ago!”

“Right. Shaun Grazer. Okay,” Rick answered. “How are things?” Still no trace of excitement.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice,” stated Shaun, overwhelmed with delight, his forehead collapsing into his wrist as he held the mic.

There was no response.

“Are you guys still at the Stratosphere Casino?” asked Shaun.

Again there was no response. Shaun began to feel strange.

“Hello?” he asked. “Are you folks still there?”

“The Stratosphere. Yes. We’re all still here,” answered Rick, his voice still monotone and dull.