The Tome of Bill (Book 6): Half A Prayer (14 page)

We’d need that trait down there as if our lives depended on it...probably because they did.

* * *

We suited up and armed ourselves. Hardened Kevlar and ceramic body armor was the dress of choice for this mission, as touching those fucking monsters was akin to running one’s hand over broken glass. The downside? We would likely smell like a Sasquatch’s ass before we traveled more than a mile. Each of the vamps got a pickaxe or hammer, a combat knife, a shotgun loaded with explosive shells, and other such accoutrements - in short, mostly stuff I really wasn’t qualified to use.

Steve was just loading up a backpack with grenades when Sally reappeared. She was carrying four large canteens, the contents of which I could easily guess.

She put them down next to our supplies then turned toward us. “Strip.”

“What?”

“Not you,” she replied, pointing a finger at Steve. “Him. Take that stuff off and hand it over. You’re staying.”

“But...”

“I’m going with them. That’s all you need to know.”

Steve froze in place. “Coven Master Sally, as your lieutenant, I must inform you that doing so is ill-advised.” I had to admire his courage. Most vamps had it beaten into their heads from an early age they shouldn’t breathe incorrectly at their master if they wanted to keep living.

“And as coven master, I must inform you that I don’t give a shit about your opinion.”

Silence overcame the room. No doubt everyone wondered if they were about to see their second bloodbath of the day. Eventually, Sally said in a nice, even voice, “Clear the room. I need to have a word with my subordinates.”

It’s funny. When most people get all worked up, they usually start screaming at each other to sound intimidating, raising their voices to painful decibels. What they don’t realize is that a quiet, steady voice can be a lot scarier. Not surprisingly, the room cleared out quickly. I’d have gone too, but I’d heard the plural in Sally’s request. Also, she knew damn well I would jump at her commands about as well as she had during our Village Coven days.

Once we were alone, she said, “I’m leaving you in charge, Steve.”

“But I’m not...”

“It’s time to stop being a behind-the-scenes guy. Both the coven and the refugees respect you. They’ll listen and do as they’re told. That’s key because if anything gets weird up here, I want you to relocate. Hell, it’s probably a good idea regardless.”

“But this building is defensible. We have supplies...”

“This building won’t mean shit if we can’t bury this problem. They’ve already proven that.”

“They took us by surprise.”

“Yeah, and who knows what tricks they’ll use next time. We underestimated them. These things are obviously smarter than they’re letting on. They didn’t need to stop today. They could have overrun us. For some reason, they chose not to, but next time, they might not. We don’t have enough vampires or wizards to fight them all. Also, you’ve seen what it’s like out there. There are things watching us from out in the desert, things that aren’t on our side. Eventually, they’re going to try their luck. We can’t fight a war on two fronts with what we’ve got.”

“Reinforcements?” he asked.

“Good luck,” I scoffed.

“Bill’s right. Yvonne has about as much chance of helping us as I do of sprouting a penis.”

“Chicks with di...”

She turned and glared at me. “Don’t start. The Draculas won’t do shit either. We’re here to contain this problem, but Vegas isn’t otherwise tactically important to them. They won’t commit a sizable force if we get squashed.”

“You could try calling James,” I offered.

Sally’s face fell. “I already did. He’s not answering. He hasn’t answered my calls since New York.”

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I still think this is a poor idea. I could do this job. The coven needs you.”

“No, the coven needs a
leader.
Anyone competent enough can fill those shoes, and you’re more than up to that task. Let Kara watch out for the humans. She’s good with them, but keep an eye on her. She’s young and occasionally her bloodlust gets the better of her.”

“But where should we go?”

“If things go to shit or we’re not back in a few days, try heading southwest. Find a quiet suburb to settle down in. Nobody in this godforsaken war seems to give a shit about those.”

Sally was right on that one. Last I’d checked, my parents were still nestled pretty cozily in mid-Jersey. There’d been a little bit of weird stuff, but the main nastiness so far seemed to focus on the heavily rural and urban areas - go figure, the main strongholds of the respective sides in this clusterfuck.

“When you get settled,” she continued, “make contact with Christy on the East Coast. Let her know where you are and what happened.”

Steve opened his mouth again. I thought he was going to protest, but he closed it and then started unbuckling his weapons belt. “I just have one question...why?”

Sally didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her head toward me and smiled. It was similar to one she’d given me months back, when we’d first discovered that Sheila was the Icon. I’d been on the verge of a breakdown, but she’d surprised me by coming through and standing by my side when I needed her most.

“My partner needs me.”

Though I’d have gladly taken a bullet than see any of my friends in harm’s way, I felt better as I stepped from the tunnel into the sewer proper with Sally by my side. We didn’t always win, but we always seemed to make it out of shit alive when we were together. I wasn’t a great believer in luck, but at that moment, I’d have taken anything that offered a bit of hope. Now to see if our streak held up.

Sally handed one of the canteens to me as we stood at the intersection. “Time to juice up.”

I took it from her overly pristine hand with its freshly polished nails.

She must’ve noticed my confused stare because she added, “While I was mixing up the blood, I had Alfonso give me a manicure.”

“A manicure?”

“Yep.”

“Why? You do realize we’re heading into a sewer, not a nightclub, right?”

“Of course, and I also realize that the chances of us coming back out are slim. If I never make it to the surface again, at least my last memory aboveground will be a happy one.”

All of a sudden, that lucky feeling felt more like a leaden weight around my throat. What the fuck had I been thinking? “If you’re wearing five-inch heels when it’s time to bug out, I’m leaving your ass.”

“If I have an occasion to wear five-inch heels, then you’d better damn well leave me because I’m probably in a situation where I don’t want us to be seen together.”

“Are you two going to do this the entire trip?” Miranda asked, a high-powered headlamp shining from her forehead as the sole member of the search party without night vision.

“Probably,” I commented, unscrewing the lid on the canteen. “Bottoms up.”

Although we probably had about two gallons of vampire blood on us, I took only the barest of sips - maybe a shot glass’s worth. “Ugh.”

“Something wrong?” Sally asked.

“Weird aftertaste.”

“Sorry. I mixed some anticoagulant in to keep it from turning into a clotted-up mess.”

“Good idea, but next time, make sure it’s cherry flavored, okay...whoa!” The mingled blood mixture hit my stomach and I immediately felt the effects. It was similar to drinking one vamp’s blood, but a bit different nevertheless now that I took a moment to experience it. Think of the difference between drinking flat versus carbonated soda - something like that. Gee, I really hoped the concoction didn’t give me gas, although considering where we were headed, it’s not like people would notice.

“So, what’s it like?” Brock asked.

“Kinda like this.” I cocked back a fist and drove it into the wall. The damp masonry shattered like glass.

“Whoa! Need to get me some of that shit.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to try it,” Sally said. “Vamp blood is an acquired taste that only Freewills can stomach.”

“Jealous much?” I teased her. “I have some of you inside me. Maybe you want some of me...”

“Finish that thought and I’ll finish you in my own special way.” She patted the oversized holster that held her preferred weapon - a fifty caliber Desert Eagle. “So how much of a boost did it give you?”

“Not quite at James’s level, but not too far off, either.”

“It’ll have to be enough. Now, make like a good little bloodhound and start sniffing.”

* * *

Even a young vampire has senses far beyond that of normal humans. We can hear better, smell better, and see in the dark. The only downside of that last part is that I’m still stuck wearing glasses. With regards to smell, that’s not always a good thing, either. Don’t get me wrong; waking up just when the bakeries pulled their rolls from the oven was quite the joy, despite the fact that I preferred my muffins soaked in blood first. Reverse that, though, and a bad enough smell could feel like it punched you right in your soul. Sasquatches, for example, probably smell like rancid shit to a person, but to a vamp, it’s enough to make us wish for a quick death. Oddly enough, it’s not much different in sewers - go figure.

The problem with acquiring a scent and locking onto it is that first, you have to take in all the other smells, mentally analyze them, and then home in on the one you want. At my current power, I could pretty much visualize scents down to the user level - someone had the burrito squirts, another beer diarrhea, still another who apparently had a fondness for pickled herring - and so on. Had Ed not been one of my best buds, a guy who’d gone to bat for me more times than any sane person should, I’d have probably given up and declared, “Sorry, he’s not down here,” before racing back to the surface for a lungful of relatively clean air.

Finally, after what felt like hours of sifting through scents in my mind, a familiar smell stood out. I’d lived with the guy for years, I sure as hell knew what he smelled like - and yes, that sounded creepy to me too.

I opened my eyes and faced the others. “I’ve got him.” Judging by their positions relative to when I’d started, I’d say it had taken me maybe three or four seconds to lock on.

I pointed down the tunnel toward my right. “He was carried that way. Still bleeding, but alive.”

“How many...”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Hard to say. They have a distinct odor for their species or whatever the fuck you’d call them, but they all kind of smell alike.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Sally said. “And they smell enough like rock that sometimes it’s hard to tell when you’re surrounded by wall and when you’re about to get your head caved in.”

I nodded solemnly in the darkness. My nose could lead us to Ed, but it didn’t offer much in the way of a tactical advantage.

In many ways, we were still up shit’s creek without a paddle.

* * *

The first hour of our journey did nothing to lift our spirits. We passed more than one side tunnel, transformed as best as its occupants could into modest living quarters. A whole community called the Vegas underground home. While some were addicts or drunks, many others had simply fallen on hard times and couldn’t make ends meet up on the surface.

Even now, with the world falling to shit, things weren’t much better for the downtrodden. The rich, influential, or physically powerful were given preference by the casino bosses. Smaller collectives had formed amongst those living in the more modest neighborhoods off of the strip, but they were cliquish and wary of outsiders. I almost had to laugh that seemingly the most open community in the City of Sin was the area in and around Pandora’s Box, and it just so happened to be run by Sally.

Sadly, the laughter died in my throat. There was nothing funny about the dwellings we passed. Whatever minor joy the occupants might have been able to eke out of life had been silenced. Each and every one of the dwellings was empty, some abandoned mid-meal. The people had assumed themselves safe due to our patrols, but we’d gotten complacent and, in the end, had let them all down. As we walked, Miranda offered the idea that maybe some of them had joined Ed as prisoners. I let her keep that small bit of hope, but my nose told me otherwise. There may have still been people alive down in the tunnels, but right now, the dead far outnumbered them.

“So what does it taste like?” Miranda asked as I took another swig from the canteen to shore up my enhanced abilities.

“Huh?” We’d taken a short break, and I’d stepped away from the group to recharge and double check we were still on the right path. I hadn’t realized she’d followed me.

“The blood. I know you need it to survive, but do you actually
like
it?”

It had been rare for anyone outside of my roommates to ask that, and they’d mostly just made fun of me for it. Dave had inquired on a few occasions, but it was more in a clinical sort of way - like I was a lab rat.

I smirked at the thought of him. Much to my dismay, he’d gotten firsthand experience as to what it was like. Unfortunately, ever since we’d zapped out of the Northeast, Dave had been off the grid - whereabouts unknown. That wasn’t good, because my friend and former DM was high on ambition and low on human compassion. In truth, when those vamps had walked in with that crate, a part of me was certain he was in it, that someone had finally noticed his uncovened ass and moved to rectify the situation.

“The truth is,” I said, “it’s hard to describe. Think of your favorite food.”

“Oh, that’s easy. There was this little roadside stand right outside of St. George that used to make these incredible fried brain sandwiches served with fresh okra. They were...”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“You ate fried brains?”

“Whenever I could get out there.”

“That’s fucking disgusting,” I said, horrified.

“You drink blood.”

“I know, and I still find that vile.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“And for that I am thankful.” Ugh. My stomach churned at the very thought. I had figured nobody outside of that crazy Andrew Zimmern dude would stuff shit like that down their gullet. Man, people were just fucking weird. “Anyway, imagine that every single one of your senses was now attuned to...brain, I suppose, especially your taste buds. Think of how that sandwich would taste magnified a hundred-fold. That’s pretty much how it is with blood.”