Dracula Lives Page 23
“Come!” Johnny shouted down at him, brandishing the spear gun. “Take your chances against me!”
Dracula looked up at her. A sinister grin formed on the vampire’s lips as he pushed a button on the control panel at his waist. He turned his gaze to Quinn. “I’ll leave you to take your chances against the creature that once fought King Kong.”
The pterodactyl landed just beyond the end of the porte-cochère. One deliberate, lurching step at a time, the creature began circling the porte-cochère, wings tight against its sides. “Good luck,” Markov said before turning back to Johnny.
“Father against daughter,” he shouted up at her. “So it has come to this.”
As she swung the spear gun around to aim it at him, he turned into a giant bat and flew out of the porte-cochère. Quinn sprinted to see where he was going. Markov flew up to his apartment window, changed into fog, and seeped inside.
Quinn started to run toward Johnny so he could warn her, but the pterodactyl now stood between him and the front door. Unblinking predatory eyes bore into him—pools of primeval savagery born eons ago. Staring back, resisting every urge to run, Quinn extended both arms to get their magnetic wristbands as close as possible to the creature.
Unfazed, the monster took a lurching step toward him. Maybe it was too far away for the magnetism to reach.
Or maybe it’s real.
“Run!” Johnny yelled.
“Markov is inside!” Quinn yelled back. “In his apartment!”
“I’ll deal with him. Run!”
Quinn back-pedaled out of the porte-cochère as fast as he could. The pterodactyl continued its lurching march toward him.
As it got within striking distance, Quinn pulled out the pepper spray and aimed at eyes narrowed for the kill.
The creature emitted a soul-ripping shriek that drove Quinn back. One flap of its enormous wings propelled it above his head before he could release the spray. In the next instant he felt talons digging into his shoulders. The pain was so intense he dropped the spray to free his hands and try to pull the talons off.
The pterodactyl was flying away with him.
They were headed in the direction of the lagoon and the forest beyond. He had to do something fast, before they got too high or too far.
He reached up and pulled on one of the talons. It dug deeper. Shards of moonlight glittered on the surface of the lagoon. They’d be there in seconds.
My knife.
Forcing himself to remain calm, he reached behind, unzipped the security pocket in his waistband, and pulled out the multitool. The lagoon was seconds away. Quinn extracted the knife from its slot and slashed one of the talons. The pterodactyl shrieked and released its grip on that shoulder, squeezing harder on the other.
Quinn dangled from the beast’s claws at least fifty yards above the water and getting higher every second. Hitting the water from this distance could cause serious injury, might even kill him, but hitting the trees or the ground would be worse. The water was his best chance, and they were halfway across the lagoon, approaching the end where he thought he’d seen a shape. They’d be over the trees in seconds.
He slashed the talons gripping his shoulder. With another soul-chilling shriek the pterodactyl released its grip. As Quinn saw the water zooming toward him, he curled himself into a ball and covered his face to prepare for the impact. It sounded like a gunshot when he slammed into the water, but the need to breathe obliterated any thoughts of pain. Quinn uncurled himself as he sank to the bottom. He landed on his feet in soft mud. The impact bent his legs at the knees, and from that crouch he launched himself toward the surface. As he shot upward, he glimpsed something partially concealed by a tall thicket of seaweed, as though hiding. It looked like a much more sinister version of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Its eyes were closed, its body limp. There were other alien shapes floating at the bottom among the kelp. Quinn guessed this must be a dumping ground for Markov’s failed attempts at creating movie monsters. But why were chains fettered around their ankles?
Just before the Creature disappeared from view, its eyes opened. Even in the dim glow of the moonlight, there was no mistaking it: Their demonic red glow was trained on him.
CHAPTER 53
Max’s car teetered like a seesaw, half on and half off the ridge. Heart thumping, he opened the door and threw himself onto the flat surface of the ridge.
The car wobbled for a moment before coming to rest. Most of the trunk hung over the edge. The next gust of wind could slam against the open door and send the car falling.
The sword. He couldn’t finish this without the sword. It was in the trunk.
Max scrambled to his feet and pushed the button on the door that opened the trunk. His heartbeat raced as he waited to see if the force of the lid popping open would upset the precarious balance. Several seconds went by without any movement. He released the breath he’d been holding. He went to the trunk and opened the lid as gently as he could.
The sword had come to rest at the rear of the trunk, which hung several feet over the edge. He couldn’t reach it from where he stood.
He had to have that sword.
He looked down to see if there was anywhere he could step to get closer. An outcropping of rock extended a few feet beyond the ridge. Two, three steps would get him there.
Rain splashed against his face. Max took one tentative step onto the outcrop, then another. He moved his feet slightly to test his footing, ready to jump back onto the ridge if they started to slip. They didn’t. He was only another step or two from the side of the trunk. Just as he lifted his foot to take the first one, he heard a loud grinding noise.
The car inched farther over the edge.
Max hurried to the trunk as fast as he dared and leaned in. The loud grinding became a roar as the car began to topple over the edge. Max’s fist closed on the hilt of the sword. He jumped back, a split-second before the car disappeared into the abyss. The jostling made him lose his footing. He twisted his body and threw his weight backward as he fell. He landed on the outcropping, inches from the sheer drop. Clutching the sword, he scrambled on hands and knees back onto the flat surface of the ridge. He crawled several feet to get away from the edge and collapsed.
He lay in the mud and rain for several moments, catching his breath and gathering the strength to move on. Finally he stood and looked at how far he had left to go. About fifty yards to the end of the ridge. The castle was a mile beyond that, and now he’d have to get there on foot, soaking wet. The rain was tapering off, but jagged bolts of lightning still exploded above the castle.
In the flashes of intermittent light, Max saw a dim red glow over the castle, obscured by the massive black storm cloud. Slowly, a hole began opening in the section of cloud that concealed the glow. Having been trained from childhood to see the world through the eyes of a filmmaker, Max envisioned the hole as an iris fade-in for the climax of Markov’s movie. When the source of the red glow was fully revealed, the hole stopped expanding, as though framing the focal point of the shot.
The Blood Moon stared down like the eye of Satan, beaming its demonic energy into Markov’s accursed pile. The image became so powerful that, standing there clutching the sword, Max began to envision himself as a lone Crusader, the one man who could reclaim this land from someone who worshipped—wanted to be—a character whose name meant Son of the Devil. A surge of self-righteousness propelled Max forward. Stepping carefully along the muddy ridge, when he finally made it across and began the mile-long march to the castle, his stride became a cocky strut.
The lightning continued to shred the sky above the castle, but the rain had stopped, and for the first time since leaving home this morning, Max felt sure he was going to succeed in his quest. He threw off his wet jacket and increased his pace. He was soaked to the bone and cold. The exercise would warm him. When he reached the castle he could get dry clothes from Johnny’s wardrobe before dealing with Markov.
Halfway to the castle a flash of lightning
illuminated something about thirty yards ahead. What Max saw brought him to a sudden halt.
From each side of the thick woods that hugged the lane, a shadowy figure emerged and began shambling toward him. Despite their unsteady gaits, the pair rapidly came together to block his path. At first Max thought they might be drunken campers or hunters, but as they came closer, their cadaverous frames and tattered clothing made it clear they were much worse.
They were flowers that had escaped the Garden. Or—
Maybe they hadn’t escaped. Max thought of the letter he had sent, telling Markov he was coming to kill him. Maybe Markov had revived the undead enough to act as sentinels. They certainly weren’t behaving like half-dead corpses that had languished in their coffins for years. They moved into the best position for cutting him off—too close together for him to bull through, and too close to the woods for him to go around—with a surprising quickness that showed a sharpness of mind and intense focus on their task.
Max had to do something fast. They were barely twenty yards away now.
Striking off into the woods wasn’t an option. More of them might be waiting in there—or if not them, some of Markov’s other “creatures of the night.” And as dark as it was, Max would essentially be blind.
He couldn’t retreat. That would take him away from the castle, costing him time he didn’t have. And it wouldn’t solve his problem. He would still have to get around these things to get to Markov.
A rustling noise behind him made him snap his head around.
Two more were shuffling toward him. Retreating was no longer an option.
He would have to stand and fight.
As the undead closed in around him, uncertainty came into their eyes when they saw the sword. Seeing their hesitation, Max let out a maniacal yell and began thrusting and slicing with controlled fury. The attack took them by surprise. Years of inactivity had dulled their reflexes. One lunged at him, but could make only a feeble sidestep to avoid his parrying thrust.
The sword ran straight through the attacker’s chest. It was dead when it hit the ground.
Max kept the rest of them at bay with maniacal swings of the sword. Finally another of the undead gathered enough courage to make a lunge. Max countered with a vicious swipe.
The sword almost took its head off. Still attached by a few inches of flesh, the head flopped onto the chest. Blood spurted like a fountain as the eyes closed and the thing collapsed into a lifeless pile on the ground.
The eyes of the remaining two lit up when they saw the blood draining from the defenseless corpse. They fell to their knees and pressed their mouths to the huge gash.
Max quelled his revulsion at the loud slurping noises. He wanted to kill the foul bloodsuckers, but it might not go quickly, and others might show up to block his path. This wasn’t the battle he had come here to fight.
The sky over the castle had cleared. The red moon shone down on it with full force, and even though the rain had stopped, bolts of lightning still bombarded it as though hurled by a wrathful God. Again feeling like a lone Crusader, the one chosen to administer the killing blow to evil, Max hurried toward the castle.
CHAPTER 54
Markov stopped at the landing in front of the Chamber of Horrors to begin his search for Johnny. He had to be careful. She had the advantage. The spear gun could kill from a distance. The impalement stake couldn’t. There were other weapons he could use, but.…
A spark of tenderness flared up from the embers of his love for his daughter, but was quickly extinguished by the ever-stronger vampire blood replicating itself in his veins.
Wear the crown well, Vlad Dracula had said.
Markov was the vampire prince now. If he could not defeat a mere mortal with her toy, he did not deserve to wear the crown.
His grip on the impalement stake tightened.
It has to be this way.
He plucked the control panel from his hip and quickly scrolled through the castle’s monitors. Johnny was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t surprise him. She knew all the blind spots, and was much too smart to let him find her that way. And she had her own control panel. She could search the monitors just as he could and stay one step ahead of him.
He took his eyes off the corridor to clip the master control back onto his waistband. When he looked up, Johnny was just rounding the corner guarded by the Grim Reaper. She halted when she saw him. She had the spear gun.
Fifty yards of corridor stretched between them as each calculated their next move.
He had been with her when they’d picked out the spear gun several years ago. Since it was only going to be used in the lagoon, they had decided on one that was lightweight and easy to handle. It had turned out be awkward and difficult to aim, and the line attached to the shaft gave it a maximum range of only ten yards, but still—he had to get it away from her before she got that close.
Markov’s head swiveled skyward, in the direction of the Blood Moon that he knew was growing ever larger above the castle.
He pushed a button on his master control.
The Grim Reaper stepped down from its pedestal. The cameras in the eyeless sockets locked onto Johnny. Both skeletal hands gripped the scythe to administer the killing stroke. One swipe of its razor-sharp blade could easily remove her head.
The grinning, black-robed skeleton began following her up the corridor. Johnny’s cautious advance allowed the lumbering Reaper to gain on her. It was about five yards behind. Markov waited until she was about twenty yards away.
“The moment of truth,” he said.
Seeing his hand moving toward his master control, Johnny quickly looked around to see what he was activating.
The Grim Reaper was almost on top of her. She swung the spear gun up to fire. Markov pushed a button. The Reaper swung the scythe. It hit the spear gun just as Johnny fired and the spear skittered down the hall. The Reaper brought the scythe back into an upright position and stood at attention, awaiting its next command.
Johnny dropped the spear gun and turned back to face Markov. He stood several steps away with the impalement stake pointed at her.
“Did you really think you could defeat your master?” he said.
“I do, yes.”
“Prepare to face your destiny.” Markov took a step toward her.
“Two can play the destiny game.” Johnny pressed a button on her master control.
The Grim Reaper began moving again. Johnny stepped aside, and the black-robed skeleton continued advancing toward Markov. The skeletal hands brought the scythe into position for the kill. Keeping a wary eye on the blade, Markov backed along the corridor. He pushed the button that would stop the Reaper.
It kept coming. The relentless approach of Death, as it made its ungainly, hitching way toward him, was made even more chilling because it came without making a sound.
When he had put enough distance between them, Markov stopped backing and pointed the stake at the Reaper’s chest. He would hate to lose one of his favorite set pieces, but this thing was hell-bent on killing him.
And he was Vlad Dracula, he reminded himself. Draculas didn’t run. They made others run.
Death kept coming. Markov thrust the stake at the spot where the heart would be, knowing it didn’t have one but allowing for any possibility in the virtual world he had created—a nightmare blend of the digital and the real, swirling around him like a gathering maelstrom.
The Reaper’s jerky movements made him miss, and the stake shot through the space between two ribs. Unexpectedly finding no resistance, Markov stumbled forward and slammed head-on into Death. Its backward stagger, combined with Markov’s instinctive recoil, withdrew the stake. Markov scurried backwards to get beyond the range of the scythe, but Death could let no one escape. It quickly regained its balance and lunged forward, bringing the scythe around with a vicious swipe.
It sliced through the stake, missing Markov’s hands by inches. Markov threw the stub at the Reaper and backed hastily up the corridor.
Johnny aimed the spray again but he slapped it from her hand. She turned to run, but his huge paw clamped onto her neck and spun her around. Hatred blazed in the werewolf’s eyes as he blinked away the final effects of the spray. His voice was hoarse and guttural through the altered vocal cords. “Your pathetic little rebellion has failed. Quinn is carrion for the pterodactyl, and now I must treat you like anyone else who tries to overthrow the crown.”
He dragged Johnny to the Reaper, who stood motionless, awaiting its next command. The Wolf Man slammed Death to the floor, then savagely pulverized its grinning skull with repeated blows from his huge paw.
Still holding Johnny by the neck, he bounded to the end of the corridor and dragged her down the stairs to the subterranean chamber.
CHAPTER 55
Quinn broke through the surface of the lagoon gasping for breath. The image of the demonic eyes of the Creature burned in his brain. There had been life in those eyes. Predatory life. Whether the thing down there was real or virtual, if it was capable of movement, he was directly above it.
He began swimming toward the nearest shore as fast as he could. His heart pounded as much from fear as the need for air. If he looked back to see if the amphibian thing was following him, it would slow him down—but he had to know. If it was coming after him, he could at least try to defend himself or take evasive action. Still swimming furiously, he looked back.
Just below the surface, a hulking shadow was streaking toward him like a torpedo. From its shape there was no mistaking what it was. He was only a few yards from shore, but the Creature was closing fast.
Quinn scrambled up onto land. Chest heaving, he stood and faced the lagoon to see if the Creature would leave the water to continue the chase.