Chapter 47
Gerald had just entered the forgotten staff house when the trap worked. The crumbling brick building was separate from the asylum and joined only by a narrow underground tunnel that passed close to the dark sea cliff. On a stormy day, he could feel the angry sea far below pounding into the ancient cliff as he wallowed down the tunnel. The building housed the asylum's offices, a kitchen and the former staff's quarters. Gerry was visiting the red-haired mother he'd locked in one of the nurses' rooms when Jamie’s rescue vehicle barreled into Lacey’s gas-pregnant Camry. The loud bang and immediate whooshing explosion ruined Sweetling’s pleasure, and set his young mother screaming again. For a moment her screams nearly drowned out the explosion.
* * * *
Lacey was just struggling back to consciousness when the crash occurred. She fought the woman prodding and dragging her, and for a moment, they both stood transfixed, listening to the booming blast. When the gas tanks went, the concussion almost knocked both of them off their feet. He might have escaped. It might not have been his car. No, it was him. He would have been in the lead, demanding to be first. Jamie was dead. Her captor poked her hard in the small of her back, angrily motioning for her to get walking. Lacey looked at her, considered resistance. Yet after a second, her head drooped in defeat, and she began walking down the cracked road. Nothing mattered anymore.
* * * *
Nearer town, the explosion felt like a muffled thump. Kalini and Reginald stopped to listen, as did most of the townsfolk. When nothing came again, most people just got on with their lives. Reggie and Kalini exchanged frustrated looks and hurried back to their rooms. They had problems of their own. Their search had turned up nothing but a growing list of missing people. Unable to find a trace of Jamie or his girlfriend, they’d been startled to learn he had a second lover, also missing.
When the explosion came, Reggie took off far faster than a man his age should ever move. Kalini followed close on his heels. Time had run out. They drove by the commercial waterfront. At the ferry dock, they stopped to ask a crusty Portuguese fisherman when the ferry had left, and when it was due back. He had a good belly laugh, exposing his three remaining stumps, and told them the ferry had broken down halfway across to Newport and had been hauled out for repairs. He had no idea when the On Time would be back in service.
On the way back to their B&B, Reggie insisted they take a quick detour by Clark’s boatyard. Searching the abandoned marina, he finally found what he wanted. As he turned towards Kalini, his normally effervescent spirit collapsed.
“They sunk her! The bastards have sunk James’s Rattlesnake. We can’t even sail away.” He pointed to a trim little friendship sloop, half sunk at the dock, and bearing a mortal wound obviously made by a shotgun fired at close range. “Jamie, what have you gotten us into?”
Chapter 48
He fought to stay forever in her embrace. To lie contentedly beside her, listening to her gentle snoring. To remain entwined within her slender limbs, wrapped in the safety of her warm love. He sensed the soft flesh of her pale arm draped across his forehead, still slick with dripping spray from her shower. The warm water trickled down across his brow and tickled its way into his eyes. Its scent was familiar, coppery and warm. He became aware of other things at the edge of his senses. He lay on one side, sprawled across a hard surface, his body at crazy angles. He could feel gritty gravel, bits of metal and glass embedded in most of his bare flesh. Jamie felt for his grandfather’s dirk, brushing across the rough wool kilt. He always fought in a kilt woven in the green and blue MacLeod hunting tartan. With all the glass and grit sticking in him, he wished he’d worn jeans. His one free arm blazed with pain; the other one seemed pinned and dead. Slowly, he opened his blue eyes, fearful he might be blind. He could see. Almost immediately, he wished he couldn’t.
Abigail lay next to him, pinned beneath the overturned pickup. Except for nine inches of twisted steel skewering her chest, Abby seemed fine. Her blue eyes actively darting around, she certainly hadn’t lost the power of speech. She begged Jamie to get her out; to make the pain go away. She’d be better in no time, ready to go at the bad guys. Just get her out. As he watched, she grabbed the shard sticking from her chest and began to wiggle it back and forth. Before he could yell at her to stop, she’d managed to yank it out and fling it across the asphalt. As fresh blood began sputtering from the wound, Abby’s eyes swam with knowing horror. Her body quickly weakened from a steady stream of pumping blood. Jamie could tell that Abigail Standish was dying. He smelled it on her breath, saw it in her eyes. Large blue eyes that pleaded with him to make it stop, to take away the agony of pain. She begged. “Help me. Oh please, help me. I-it hurts so much.” Deep in his soulless heart, Jamie believed that no one he cared about should ever have to beg. He moved his shattered arm, sparking a blaze of instant agony. Closing his eyes, he pushed, feeling his body begin to respond, healing itself. He pushed harder, fiery pain burning across his bloodied forehead, and spreading up his shattered arm as he forced the knitting bones to inch their way towards Abby. His second arm jerked and tore free, slowly oozing along in the bloody wake of its creeping mate. Grunting in pain, he shoved himself closer until he cradled his dying friend in his hands. With tears in his own red-flecked eyes, he gently stroked her cheeks. Looking deep into Abby’s eyes, he forced a resigned smile, and told her he’d take away the pain. Then with a scream of agony more bestial than human, he snapped her neck. Both flopped back down–one exhausted and in hell; the other, finally at peace.
* * * *
After a time, he sensed voices. They were working to set him free; among them, Eric. What would the boy think if he realized Jamie had just taken his sister’s life? He laid still, his flesh healing quickly. Yet inside, he sensed a foul wound that would never heal. He’d killed a friend. He lay silently in hell, waiting. He grew aware of another being lying beside him, long and slender. He had little strength to marvel, yet lovingly ran one bloodied hand along her unforgiving form. Taking her in his arm tenderly as a lover, his other hand dipped two fingers in Abby’s cooling blood. He smeared the drying blood along the glistening length of his companion, indulging in a nasty grin. Now, they had a chance. His greedy sword drank every smeared drop of the virgin’s blood.
Things improved steadily. As his wounds eased, healing with the speed of his need; his surviving friends managed to get him out from under the overturned pick up. His companions noticed he was not alone. In his left hand he held his obsidian blade, Thirst. It had been many years since she’d tasted blood, and now, she was dying for more.With his ragged kilt and blood smeared skin, he looked like a warrior staggering from the slaughter at Culloden. He noticed the fog had blown away, carried on wet winds that promised storm. Yet it was the night that concerned Jamie MacLeod. For with the dark would come the biting creatures. This promised to be a very bloody Full Moon.
* * * *
Only Eric stood his ground when Jamie came out from under the truck. All the other would-be warriors backed off with good reason, for the detective emerged with only a few scratches and a very nasty looking sword. Eric waited for his sister to follow the cop. When she didn’t, he turned to Jamie, a knowing spasm of grief rippling across his face.
“I’m sorry, Eric. She was just too far gone. There was little I could do.”
As Eric stumbled around the other side of the wrecked pickup to hide his tears, Jamie turned to his waiting friends, upset by their leader’s obviously inhuman traits. His blue eyes blazed to icy onyx as he told them to go home and try to get their families to safety off island. Their enemy was too strong. This was his war, not theirs. If they stayed, they would die. That seemed to get the troops aroused. It was Larry White who spoke up first. MacLeod noticed that he was flanked by Shamus O’Neil, and Sean Flynn. All three were totting M4s. He really didn’t want to know where they’d gotten those, but Shamus wouldn’t look him in t
he eye. As he wondered, they were joined by several others, including Priya Patel, looking quite brazen with her 9mm. She caught him looking, and self-consciously smiled back. Looking to her weapon, she racked the slide and took an aggressive stance. She flashed a shy, determined smile. Maybe she wasn’t quite the innocent he’d thought she was.
“We’re sticking, MacLeod. I lost two good buddies in the pickup. Standish here lost his sister.” Jamie looked over his shoulder to see a red-eyed Eric rejoining their loose gaggle. Before Jamie could stop him Eric reached out and ran his hand along Thirst’s obsidian blade. Almost immediately the teenager yanked his hand back as though the curved sword had burned him.
“Hey! That feels kind of weird. Almost alive. Like the bottom of a starfish with all those tiny tickling feet. Like when I ran my fingers along the blade, my hand was kissed by a million tiny mouths.” Jamie knew that kissing wasn’t at all Thirst’s intent. He wondered how Eric would feel if he’d known the blade he’d just caressed had recently been smeared with his sister’s blood. Jamie cringed, and said nothing.
“I’m with you too. Try and stop me! My sister’s blood cries out for vengeance. Just tell me you’re going to use this blade to sever heads.”
Jamie flashed an icy smile and nodded. “Definitely.” MacLeod looked around the gang and saw only three or four drifting back toward their cars. Leaving. They’d head back towards town, pick up their families and try and get the ferry to take them to the mainland before dark. He hoped that they weren’t the smart ones. With no time left to waste, he turned to his remaining allies and told them everything he could think of to keep most of them alive. They had three hours left before the full moon crept out of its coffin, and everything at this end of the island tried to slaughter them.
Chapter 49
Sweetling was about done with the woman when his drudge shambled out of the shadows and told him their guests had arrived. Gerry licked his bloody lips, unable to hide the sharp-toothed smile that crinkled one side of his blood-spattered face. He let the poor unfortunate’s body drop; knowing his pets would enjoy cleaning up the mess. Too bad they slurped so noisily. When this was done, he really must teach them some manners.
He mumbled a few orders to his waiting toady, waddled his way to his waiting Bloody Ghost. He loved that monster of a car, an inheritance from a distant uncle who'd scooped up the blood red Rolls Royce in 1925 when some Maharajah went bankrupt. As he approached the car, his chauffer stepped out, already swinging open the massive rear door. He could tell at a glance the rear leather seat was occupied. He had her. A nightmare smile crept across his bloated face, his sneer revealing stacks of needle sharp fangs. There was indeed a God. A very dark one.
He smirked at his driver, noticing for the first time she was out of uniform, and definitely not Ms. Parker.
“Where’s Julie?”
“Dead. This little Vixen shot her.” Enjoying the moment, she pointed an accusing finger at the trussed up woman inside. “I hope you make her suffer.”
“Oh I will my dear, I will.” He patted his driver on the cheek and moved to get inside. As his chauffer turned away, he said, “Take us to my nest.” His clumsy entrance caused the 1924 Classic to groan and his terrified captive to begin squirming. “Make sure you mind the bumps.”
As the huge automobile started to move slowly over the shattered road, Gerald Sweetling sat back and took a long hungry look at his gift-wrapped present.
“Well, my dear Miss Rodriguez, I see you just can't get enough of me.”
Above her duct tape gag, Gerry saw the women’s eyes grow wide with terror. Good.
“You’re such a pretty little butterfly; I’m going to enjoy ripping off your wings. It’s going to be such fun to destroy something MacLeod cares about.” Fingering her torn dress, he said, “I see you haven’t dressed for the occasion. No bother; I’m sure I can find you something to wear. Oh we’ll have such fun; it makes my poor black heart squeal with delight.” He slid his massive bulk across the oiled red leather, grateful he’d had the center armrest removed and the restraints put in. Already as far away as possible, his mewling captive felt herself crushed by his imposing girth and enveloping stench.
“I could do with a little appetizer, my sweet.” His pudgy paws began to fumble with the bodice to her dress. “You do look good enough to eat.”
* * * *
Near the other end of the island, Reggie allowed Kalini to fluff up the pillows behind his wavy white hair. God, he felt a thousand years old. He looked above him at the exotic beauty, deep concern sparkling in her dark eyes.
“Kalini, I’ll be all right, you know. There’s no need to make a spectacle, young lady. I just need a moment to catch my breath, and then we’ll be off.”
Smiling lovingly at the old magic-user, Kalini brushed a curling white lock from her mentor’s forehead and bent to kiss his cheek. “But I do worry about you, Reggie. Where would Jamie and I be without you? You mean the world to us. And you’re kind of old—"
“Old! I am not. It was the cursed blade. It’s not like she’d let me hold her. Fought me all the way, the black-hearted bitch. Until she sensed it was him we were sending her to. Then she couldn’t get there quick enough. You ever hear that damned thing scream?” He puffed out his puffy cheeks and scratched his scraggly white beard. At the moment he really did feel every one of his two hundred years. “She must have been one unholy terror in the flesh. Why Jamie doesn’t throw her in the sea is beyond me. She’d exhaust any man!”
“Jamie MacLeod isn’t just any man now, is he?”
“True. Still, promise me, if by some terrible misfortune, I should die, you won’t go putting my spirit in that old chartreuse amulet of mine. Just bury me in that charming spot we talked about, and don’t let those Salem farts yell about it being hallowed ground, and me but an unbaptized witch. Occasionally we must think outside the box, my dear. Lie a little.”
“Reggie, stop your whining! I thought you said the spell was no big deal!”
“Okay, smarty pants. Make yourself useful and go lay out my robe. The purple one with the spangles. I might as well dress to impress. And do clothe yourself in something more appropriate. Maybe the sapphire sari?”
“Yes Master. I see it’s made you grumpy too.
“Kalini!”
Chapter 50
They came in low and fast in the middle of a blinding snow squall. Bitten down to eighteen souls, they were a resigned clan of amateurs armed with a motley clutch of weaponry ranging from M4s to kitchen knives. Only four of the charging troops had any kind of combat training. Of those, only one had taken more than a few lives, and he had no soul. Yet they made up for their lacking war skills with rock hard determination. None was eager to die, yet all had been tempered in the fire of loss, and each fought to save their families and friends. They fought an enemy far more vicious and skilled at bloody slaughter. Foul beasts eager to drain their blood, splinter their bones, and wipe their species from the earth.
After dark, they took the causeway without firing a shot. They reached the far end without incident, though the blue marker lights had a disconcerting habit of winking out just before they reached them. Most of them took it as a bad sign, feeling their element of surprise had been lost. Jamie didn’t feel the need to tell them it was his blade sucking the life from the feeble lamps.
Entering a small dark wood, barely visible in the swirling snow, they stumbled through an unkempt cemetery brooding with silent menace. The survivors stuttered to a stop, wondering who had found a final resting here, so close to this nest of misery. Staring through the blizzard, each realized the only inscriptions were the names of Paine. The smaller stones, strangely devoid of the sickly black fungus, were featureless. Servants or victims perhaps. No time to ponder, all had heard the sound; a haunted keening rising steadily above the hissing snow. Knives were drawn, weapons cocked; all made ready, nervously staring into the sh
roud of night. They came as the snow thickened; first one, then two, then twenty. In the movies they’d be zombies; to the stalwart villagers, they were friends and family. Two souls fell in minutes, too slow to fire on loved ones. Shamus O’Neil was next, transfixed on a rusted shark hook, wielded by Amy, his twelve year old niece. Survivor of a World War, his last confused sight was of familiar blue eyes above a hate-filled grin. Jamie floated through the snow, his wild hair and ragged kilt swirling about him, and with one swipe of Thirst, separated Amy’s head from her throat. The others watched horrified as he coldly murdered the little girl, no matter that she was already dead. But then the ghouls closed in, and the fifteen remaining friends fought just to stay alive. In the next few minutes most would kill someone they’d once held very dear.
Finally, the zombies drifted away. Eight exhausted fighters waited, sheathed in blood. Through the stinging snow they heard the battle raging on in the distance. Straining to see, they watched as one man stood alone against many. Surrounded by a dozen crazed ghouls, Jamie fought like a madman. His hair seemed longer, darkened by drenching sweat and blood. His kilt floated about his thighs as he danced with dirk and sword. Thirst was drinking deeply, slicing through throat and limb; the snow stained black with blood for a dozen yards. Eric stood transfixed, watching the detective play. Jamie’s cambric shirt lay in tatters, baring his broad and muscular chest. His muscular arms looked like he could crush Hummers. Eric stood staring, unable to believe what he saw. For above his muscular neck, Jamie’s head had become a snarling beast.
Unwilling to believe his eyes, Eric stared on, but then the howling wind blew a heavy curtain of snow, and in that instant, MacLeod was gone.