Antivenom

By M. Lorrox

It’s all come down to this: a call to the brave to do what’s right and kill who’s wrong. More than anyone imagined is on the line, and that line is a trail of destruction leading straight toward Væir. A small team of heroes has a huge task, but it’s not as simple as they believe...

An ancient evil breathes ever closer as a modern apocalypse unfolds faster, and above them all, the sun sets over an ocean of pain, painting the sky red. Yesteryear’s legends, bound in blood, once again fight alongside each other. Tomorrow’s warriors take on their first missions, and they form lifelong bonds by bleeding together—bonds they hope last more than the day.

But while much is uncertain, the true meaning of one thing is made apparent: Life in the blood—death in the blood.

Infinite Vampire IV: ANTIVENOM picks up where MAELSTROM drops off and completes the story in the only way M. Lorrox knows: EPIC’LY.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Lorrox
• Release date: Nov 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781947130142

M. Lorrox

Schmechnically, I’m a human, American, independent author and publisher. I like to say, though, that I’m a weird, sentient blob of independence, stubbornness, and creativity. Also, I like to think that my story is like any good novel; full of mystery, suspense, drama, and comedy. Hopefully my story turns into a fine wine—instead of a stinky cheese. In any case, while I’m writing that book (as slowly as possible), here are some highlights so far:- I was raised in a barn in rural, upstate New York. It was cold. We had a wood-burning furnace that never worked well. I gained an early appreciation for sweaters.In junior high, I tried...and failed, to publish a book about dragon science. I still have the manuscript, and I’ll publish it someday.- In college, I made up some BS, (a self-designed Bachelor of Science degree, to be more specific), then I earned a MFA in story-telling. I learned Northern Shaolin Kung Fu and taught it for a while.- After college, I discovered I had problems with authority... And conformity... And bigotry... And misogyny... And etc., etc., etc. I tried to make small changes while still fitting in, then I gave up on fitting in altogether, and I started flipping tables like no tomorrow.- I bought a motorcycle and crashed it. Then I fixed it and kept riding. Hey, want to harden your nerves? Spend a couple years riding 25 miles a day, rain or shine, on Route 66 and the 495 Beltway of DC in rush hour. You’ll either be dead or a badass.- After gaining badass status, I wanted to postpone putting that last update on a gravestone, so I decided to move out of the busy DC area. Instead of renewing the lease on my apartment, I signed up for an awesome gym membership, moved my stuff into storage, and squatted in a DC warehouse for a few months. I worked out and showered daily at the gym, which required me to carry various bags around. Homeless people on my routes thought I was also homeless, and they would offer me advice. I always thanked them.- After six months of squatting shenanigans, I decided to push my luck in DC, and I signed a lease for an affordable apartment on the top floor of a building. The roof collapsed on me on Valentine’s Day. I took a selfie with the rubble on my head; I was pissed.- I now live in Durham, North Carolina, in a nice, warm house, under a brand-new roof that shouldn’t collapse, with my polyamorous family, our dogs, and our streaming services. I get plenty of exercise while fixing up my home, and when I’m not wearing my tool-belt, I enjoy riding my motorcycle to local coffee shops, very safely. Most importantly, though, I continue flipping tables like no tomorrow!If you’re active on social media, search for @MLorrox and you just might find me. I’d love to say hi!

Book preview

Thinking of my closest family.

I couldn’t have done this without you!

"Oh, I been watching you, I’m gonna get you high.

The things I do to you, gonna make you cry."

-Big Data

Hector Reyes scans his security card and enters his small but lavish apartment. He sets his tablet in the living room and heads to the fridge. He grabs a beer and a pitcher of blood, pours a glass of each, and brings them to the living room.

He sets his drinks down without coasters, then wipes his hands over his face and head. His buzzed gray hair bristles against his palms. It feels softer than usual, and it reminds him that he should trim again. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after… As soon as these sixteen-hour work days end.

After a sip of each beverage, he shrugs off his sport coat. He slips out of his shoulder holster and sets it, pistol and all, beside him on the couch.

As he takes a sip of his cold beer, the blue light that glows from behind the curtains on one side of the room catches his eye. He swallows and frowns, then glances at a slim black obelisk beside the television. Esther, disable environmental simulation.

The window goes dark.

"Play music. Guitarra Española."

Through his living room’s 7.1 surround sound system, the sounds of an acoustic guitar emanate from one corner of the room, then another guitar joins in from the other side. The two simulated instruments fill the room with an upbeat and moody tempo.

He picks up his tablet and checks it one last time for the night. What a fucking day, but it went almost exactly to plan. The tau-strain and serum worked better than expected. Got to hand it to old Doc. Kyllinglår for that piece of work… He and the plane will be back by morning. Zaman took out Flaxman, but at least we got Wollstone… All teams on schedule… He taps to write a note to his fully-rested, morning self:

V

@Hector, check with dept. heads that teams aren’t asking questions. Get Vaeir attack timeline update from Lars.

He takes another sip of his beer, swallows, and reveals a smile. Yeah, let’s get Erica over here. When he taps over to their messages on the tablet, his smile fades. That’s right, she’s on the plane too. Fuck.

He sighs, backs out a screen, and sees an earlier note from Anne. He shrugs. Third time’s the charm? He sends her a message:

V

@Anne, are you still up? I forgot something… Can you swing over to my apartment?

Esther, lower lights.

He sips his beer in the dim living room, and he doesn’t have to wait long before there’s a knock on his door. Outside it, he finds Dr. Anne Kirchner, the head of the Virology team.

She’s in her pajamas and holds her hands on her hips. Hector, what do you want?

He shakes his head. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a day, and I just wanted to check in. He turns and steps away from the door, leaving it open. Come on it. Can I get you some blood, a beer, or maybe some tequila?

She steps into the doorway and leans against the frame. Hector, it’s late. Let’s make this quick.

The fridge door closes, and -kiiish- a beer opens. Oh, just relax and make yourself at home. These new ambers out of Auckland are pretty good. It’s too bad the world’s on a ticking clock now. Maybe when this is all over we could—

My team’s status is the same as it was when I sent my end-of-day report. We’re ready to receive Lars and his samples, and we’re ready to start production. She nods, and her tone changes. I guess there is another update… I heard that the broken inkjet bioprinter has been fixed. So, yeah, we’re all set as soon as Lars and Michael get back.

That’s right, you had a thing for him… Well, you better move on now before you learn he’s been killed. Hector steps in front of her and extends a cold beer. Glad to hear the news. His lip curls with a hint of seduction.

Anne shakes her head. I’m not staying, Hector.

I mean, we could put something on TV, or—

No thanks. She turns halfway around, then says over her shoulder, Maybe another time.

-choonk-

Hector stands in front of his thick, closed door. I wish Erica was around… Esther, raise lights. Call Tim. He makes his way back to the couch.

-ring-

Mr. Reyes?

It’s Hector tonight. Come on over here and help me drink this shit, will ya?

What, none of your women around?

He grumbles. Not tonight. Just get over here, the door will be open.

Alright, we’ll be over in a couple.

-click-

We? Probably more grunts like him. Hector sighs, sets the freshly opened bottle of beer next to his poured glass of beer, and picks up the glass of blood. The cool, thick liquid slides on his tongue. Soon, all this work will be finished, and I’ll live like a king. Even Tim and those fools will—we’ll all be kings. He smiles, then raises his glass to the only picture on his walls: a painting of a woman posed nude beside a piano. This week, we found our weapon. Next, we take the whole fucking planet. He dips his head. Salud.

He sips and smiles, reclining further into the couch. It is beautiful here in New Zealand, but it’s nothing like Patagonia. He nods. I’ll build my capital there.

After a few minutes, Hector hears Tim, one of machinists, and another man talking in the hall. Maybe they’ll have a woman with them. He sighs and glances to his side. He moves his coat, shoulder holster, and pistol to his bedroom, and he’s back in the kitchen and pulling out the remnants of two six packs when his front door opens. Hey Tim, who’d you invite along?

Tim holds the door open as a half-dozen vampires stumble into Hector’s apartment, each holding a bottle of one kind or another. Ah, just some of the crew from The Foundry. Kazumi said shit’s gonna get real tomorrow, so tonight we’re gettin’ fucked up. Tim glances at Ytarra as she enters. Ain’t that right? You met Mr. Hector Reyes?

The petite vampire with olive-colored skin swigs expensive whiskey from a bottle and looks the gray-haired vampire up and down. He’s that security boss… She smiles. Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Reyes.

Hector lays on the charm. "The pleasure is mine, but tonight, you can call me Hector. He motions to the bottle in her hand. And if you’ve got whiskey’s number, I’ve got a whiskey that’ll do a number on you."

She chuckles. We’ll see about that. She follows him into his living room and scoffs at the atmosphere. Esther, import settings, Ytarra, Swank-Shit-Six. Load lights and music.

The guitar music fades as the lighting LEDs flicker and flow between colors, filling the room with a pulsing, club-like ambiance. Techno-style electronic drums and a siren raise from the speakers, and a repeated voice saying Duro, joins in. Finally, the bass kicks, and the dancing begins.

On the G-650 jet, soft LEDs glow along the thin walkway that travels the center of the main cabin. Dr. Lars Melgaard wakes up and checks his watch. Six am, like clockwork. He sits up on the couch and stretches. Across from him, the two men from Væir’s security detail sleep on a pair of reclining chairs. One snores while the other drools onto his shoulder. Each is covered by a blanket that bulges below the shoulder—where their pistols are.

Lars gets up and slips his pants and dress shirt back on. Directly forward from the main cabin is a bathroom and the cockpit. Immediately aft is the private room he has set up as a rudimentary lab. He walks in and checks that the equipment and samples he brought along are still safely stowed. He retrieves the organ-transportation device that Michael built. He pushes a button installed beside the microcontroller, and the readout on the LCD changes. Battery at 57%, CO2 filter at 78%. Good. The batteries should last until we land, but I’ll change them when they dip to 30%. He returns the augmented cooler to the cabinet and secures it in place. He walks another few steps aft and knocks on the door to the last room toward the tail of the plane. He can hear rustling through the thin wall.

One second. In the light coming from Mary Wollstone’s heartrate and IV monitors, Erica Wakkana climbs off the partially-inflated air mattress beside Mary’s bed. She was told that she could only bring a handbag on this trip, so she didn’t bring any change of clothes. She slept in her underwear, and she grabs a sheet to cover herself.

She attempts to open the door, struggling for a moment against the air mattress, which blocks it. When the fog of sleep clears enough, she slips a toe between the door and the air mattress to create enough room to open the door a crack. Her frown softens when she sees that it’s Dr. Melgaard who has woken her. Sir? She runs a hand through her dark, tightly-curled hair, taming it some.

Good morning. Once you check on our guest, I’ll need your assistance in the lab.

She yawns and glances out the unblocked window beside Mary’s bed. It’s pitch black outside. She checks the time on Mary’s monitor. Eleven-o-five pm. Morning? Are you kidding me? I just went to sleep like an hour ago.

That’s irrelevant. It’s six am Eastern. Until we land in New Zealand, you’re on my time. Get dressed if you must, but meet me in the lab in two minutes.

She groans and shuts the door. Big wig or not, that guy can be a real dick.

She enters the lab at ten after six, Eastern Standard Time. Ms. Wollstone required a new set of IVs. I got here as soon as I could.

Lars looks up from his papers and laptop. Very well. Put on gloves. I need your help making some bone marrow cultures.

She grabs a pair of latex gloves from a box but waits to put them on. How many gel plates should I grab? She motions to a small fridge and yawns, her white teeth in stark contrast to her dark skin.

He shakes his head. We’re not going to be growing the cultures on gel—we’re going to be using fresh blood.

The sun washes through the windows at INOVA Fairfax Hospital. June feels its warmth on the back of her neck and shaved scalp, and she smiles.

For the first time in almost a week, she had a natural, rejuvenating night’s sleep. Not even the fancy hotel suite’s luxurious bed could grant her rest, but yesterday’s events—starting with being drugged and knocked unconscious by Dr. Melgaard and Michael Turner—changed her, and a simple chair beside the window was comfortable enough for her to sleep in. She woke an hour ago when the sky started to bloom with the day’s light, and she has sat in front of the window in deep reflection since.

She watches over a hospital bed where her father lies asleep. His leg is raised and wrapped in bandages; his femur’s compound fracture required extensive surgery. A thin ray of sunbeam slices across the room toward Skip’s head. The anesthetic should wear off soon, and he’ll wake.

She remembers how he looked when he first saw her after he arrived at the hospital. He was being carted off to surgery, but he insisted on seeing his daughter first. He quaked when his eyes looked over her, then they filled with tears. The doctor told him June had been beaten and medically molested, that she was harvested for her blood and bone marrow, and her ovaries were surgically removed. Skip screamed and jumped out of the stretcher toward the doctor—only to further drive his broken femur’s shards through his quadricep. He collapsed on the ground and passed out. June and the doctor lifted him back onto the stretcher, and he was rushed away.

June sighs. He’ll freak again when he sees me the way I am now. It’s going to be very hard on him… He won’t understand. I died yesterday. That’s that. June is no more, but I am... Who am I?

The light hits Skip’s closed eyelids, but he doesn’t move.

Is he even still my dad? Do I even have a dad, or a family? Now that I’m so different, it feels like I’m completely alone… She looks down at her hand and imagines the wolf-paw and claws she felt last night. She remembers tearing into that boy who hurt Eddy’s friend, Enrique, then thinks about her change in front of the Costanzas. I am a lone wolf now, a pack-less, fearless, animal.

Alone.

A shadow crosses the window, and June turns around and squints. Dew covers the grass, and slight wisps of steam rise from the green blades as the moisture evaporates in the early sun. At the tree line, she sees something move.

Rusty walks out, shaking dust off his body.

June smiles and taps on the glass. Rusty looks up and wags his tail. June stands and looks at Skip again. I’m sorry I died. I’m sorry you got hurt. But I can’t be sorry any more—it wasn’t my fault.

Skip lies motionless, the sun now warming the side of his face. June leaves the room to retrieve Rusty.

Sadie, Eddy, and Minnie all sleep in another hospital room. Minnie shakes violently in her sleep, and she crushes Valentine, her stuffed unicorn, tight to her chest.

Her shaking rouses Eddy, who shares a small hospital bed with her, and he groans awake. You alright, Minnie?

Startled, she wakes and sniffs. She pouts. Scary dream.

He rubs her head. Forget it, it wasn’t real.

Yesterday was real.

Eddy gives her a hug and yawns.

Sadie wakes and stretches her long limbs from the room’s other hospital bed. Minnie hops down and runs over to her side. Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom.

Sadie motions with her head to the door across from her in the hospital room. There’s one right there, dear.

Minnie pouts. Will you go with me?

Sadie blinks some consciousness into her eyes while she considers why Minnie wants company.

I don’t want to be alone in there.

Sadie nods and gets up, then walks with Minnie to the bathroom. Eddy, hit those vending machines and try to find some food for Minnie. Get something healthy.

Eddy shrugs. Easier said than done.

He returns with the vending machine’s entire supply of trail mix, then helps Minnie eat some of it alongside a tall glass of blood.

Sadie finishes washing her face in the sink, then steps out of the bathroom. Okay, let’s get your dad up. Today’s going to be a busy day.

Minnie runs over to her. Can we all stay together today? That way we’ll be safe. If we split up, we won’t be.

Sadie smiles down at her golden-haired angel. Sometimes we have to take risks. Let’s go wake Daddy up.

Minnie snakes her hand into Sadie’s, and she squeezes it hard.

To be nice to Charlie, Sadie suggests they bring him coffee. In the lounge, they get the world’s worst coffee from a vending machine for a dollar. At first, Sadie doesn’t see the to-go coffee lids, but they’re stacked on top of the machine. She puts one on and gray steam rises through the tiny oval hole in the white cover.

Charlie asked to be placed in the room with Enrique, and as Sadie, Eddy, and Minnie arrive, he is sipping a latte from a large mug. On a tray covering his lap are a number of plates, including one with a full stack of buttermilk pancakes covered with whipped cream, sliced strawberries, and maple syrup.

Eddy shakes his head to remove the hallucination from his eyes, but his dad, smiling and enjoying delicious-smelling food remains. Where did you get all that good stuff?

Sadie sighs and takes a sip of the shit-coffee, then grimaces and spits it back through the little oval opening and into the cup.

Charlie wipes his mouth with a napkin. This hospital food is really good! Did you get the pancakes or the frittata? Minnie jumps up onto his bed and hugs onto her daddy’s legs. She shakes the bed, and Charlie grabs the tray with his meal. Careful Minnie! Don’t make me spill my juice!

She nuzzles into the covers. Sorry, Daddy.

It’s okay, dear.

Sadie turns to leave. I’ll go find...a server.

Charlie takes a quick sip of his latte before calling after her. Get me some hot sauce, will ya?

Enrique grumbles himself awake. Why’s everyone yelling?

Eddy steps over to him. Sorry man, just breakfast.

Enrique takes a deep inhale though his nose. Pancakes, syrup, sausage...of the turkey variety, fruit, coffee and milk. He smiles. Yeah, I think I’ll have what he’s having.

Charlie pops a piece of melon into his mouth. No can do, buddy. You got stabbed in the guts remember? The knife cut your intestines. You’re on a blood-only diet for a couple days.

Enrique sighs, realizing the dull soreness he feels in his stomach even through his painkillers. Blood is good too. He looks at Eddy. So man, what’s up? Did they catch those assholes last night? What’s the deal?

Eddy swallows. That’s right, they pumped him full of morphine… Eddy clears his throat. A couple things happened last night after you were stabbed... For one thing, June woke up.

Enrique’s mouth drops open.

Eddy nods. Yeah.

Minnie helps her dad finish his breakfast while Eddy tells Enrique the rest of the news, how the tour group and vampire kids were saved, how Captain Sarkis died, how—according to Steve—June attacked him and gave him a variety of injuries, and that Li Chen got away. Steve said Li Chen took your phone with him.

Enrique looks forlorn and sighs.

Eddy frowns in response. We’ll figure out the ring thing, don’t worry about that.

Enrique shakes his head. I thought I did a good job with the fake, but I obviously didn’t. And then that Steve guy stabs me, and I’m bleeding everywhere, meanwhile your friend who we all thought was dead, kicks his ass, stabs into him with her hands, and scalps him? He shrugs. I thought I was tough. I feel like I’m an imposter.

Charlie repositions Minnie so he can turn in his bed to look at Enrique. Don’t ever try to compare yourself to others. There will always be someone that’s better in thing A or thing B, but that doesn’t mean that you should just give up. Besides, you got a hole burned in your leg from a flare, a nasty cut across your back from that explosion in Melgaard’s lab, and all that was after battling like, a thousand zombies.

Enrique nods. "And a hairline fracture in my left arm and a cut across my dominant hand’s palm. I know sir, but...that June girl, she’s tiny. I’d never have believed she would even wake up, let alone take out that husky goon."

Charlie swallows but otherwise doesn’t respond. At least she’s not dead... And Skip’s not dead. Maybe she just snapped last night in the lawn, and she’ll be her old self again.

While Skip sleeps in his room, June sits in front of the window once again. She pets a sleepy Rusty, who is curled up in her lap. He nuzzles against her hand, and she smiles. It’s good to see you, too.

Lieutenant Colonel Elian Schermer, the new commander of the Council Guard, didn’t get any sleep last night. She returned the truck she borrowed to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport and got a ride to the hotel to collect her car, but before heading to the hospital, she did some legwork.

Her contacts at the National Security Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Central Intelligence Agency didn’t get any sleep either. At each agency, a team was assembled to put together a file on Væir, Dr. Melgaard, the recently deceased Robert Flaxman, and any correlations that exist between them. New Zealand’s Security Intelligence Service was also alerted to the potential threat Dr. Melgaard could pose, and they put a team together as well.

Now, Schermer drives back to the hospital with preliminary files stacked on the passenger seat. When she arrives, she finds High Councilor Vincent de Villablino still recovering in his room. Good morning, sir, I have some updates for you.

He hits a button on the wired remote and the back of his bed lifts. His eyes are bloodshot, and his white hair is disheveled. Very good, Lieutenant Colonel. How is the situation in DC?

She frowns. It’s still under quarantine, but evacuations have been going through the night. Other outbreaks in the surrounding areas have been contained, but the casualties are high. Estimates are that eighty to ninety thousand people died yesterday between the Pentagon and DC.

Vincent closes his eyes and shakes his head. Damn that man—those men. Damn this group and whatever they’re after. He opens his eyes to her and scowls. "Tell me you have something. Every instinct tells me that they have something even worse planned."

Schermer nods, then holds up the stack of files. We don’t have much yet, but we’ve got something.

Take a seat.

She does, then she details what her contacts in the intelligence community have pulled together so far.

Vincent shakes his head. That doesn’t tell us anything. A series of offshore accounts and shell companies?

She shrugs. Well, it tells us they’re organized and that they’ve been careful. We did find an account linked to Dr. Melgaard that had three hundred million dollars in it for about a week. Then it was cleared out and sent to another corporation’s account. It appears that this Væir group is sliding a lot of money from one place to another, and they have been for decades. We still have nothing on what the group actually is, though.

What about Melgaard’s and Flaxman’s travels in New Zealand? Councilor Simonsen says Flaxman made a number of trips out there.

We just know flight details. There’s no record of Melgaard or Flaxman ever spending a dollar or checking into any hotel or anything inside New Zealand. On paper, it looks like they flew in and out of the country but never stepped foot outside the airport. We’ve asked New Zealand’s intelligence community for assistance, but they’re all relatively small agencies. It’ll take time to get pertinent information from them.

Vincent purses his lips while he shakes his head. So, we know nothing new.

I wouldn’t say that.

He looks at her. She’s smiling. What did I miss?

Melgaard has been traveling there a lot, starting almost a decade ago. There’s no way he didn’t leave a trace during that time. He also sticks out in a crowd; he’s a rich swede with handicapped legs. New Zealand’s intelligence community will find something. Finally, Flaxman has only started visiting there the past couple years, but his travel dates have always overlapped with Melgaard’s. Flaxman was never there alone.

So, it looks like Flaxman was brought in then?

Yes, and that three hundred million being moved around was the same month as Flaxman’s first visit. We’ll dig up more, and we’ll get them, but it seems that we’re on the right track.

Right track to what? Their dirty laundry? Vincent rests his head back on his pillow. It appears that we are on their trail, but we’re still in the dark about their next move. We’ve been blindsided a few times by them already—we know they must not be underestimated. The question is, do we go in now, or do we wait?

Schermer folds her hands on the stack of folders on her lap, and for a moment, she just looks at them. She drags a nail across her skin and watches the texture change. Sir? Is that really the question?

He rolls his head toward her and allows his eyes to close with the weight of his decision. No, it’s not. He opens his eyes to her. Find the interim prime minister and Colonel Costanza, and send them to me. Also, call all the available knights and guards in the area to a meeting; we need to put together a team.

She nods. Yes, sir—

I’m not done, Lieutenant Colonel. His nostrils flare. I also want you to begin preparations to move all the elders that are here to a safe location, because we can’t stay in the hospital. He shakes his head. If I didn’t have this feeling of doom—this feeling that we cannot delay on our response to Væir—I’d suggest we all travel to one of the Order’s estates in Europe. He sighs alongside a shrug. Choose a nearby location we can move to easily. Keep the location undisclosed until after a full security sweep and until we start the transition.

I understand, sir—

He growls, Schermer, do not interrupt me! He takes a breath and sighs. Light a fire under your contacts’ asses. We’ll be sending a team as soon as we can, and I’d hate to send them without solid intel and resources.

Schermer pauses, making sure Vincent is done speaking. Yes, sir. There’s one other thing: we lost a Knight of the Order yesterday.

He frowns. Captain Sarkis, one of your senior guardsmen.

Korina. My friend. "If it’s alright with you, I’d like to send her off with a chalice ceremony, while everyone is still here at the hospital."

He nods slowly. Find me when it is time.

She stands and snaps into attention stance with her hands flat at her sides.

Dismissed.

Sadie and Charlie enter Vincent’s room.

He asks them to remain standing. This will only take a moment. Mrs. Prime Minister, I’ve asked Lieutenant Colonel Schermer to begin the process of moving the Council and elders to a more secure, nearby location. Please make whatever arrangements you need. I hope we can leave here in a few hours.

Sadie nods. Very well.

Vincent forces himself to sit up. I also would like to discuss sending a team after Dr. Melgaard. We—

We must do so with haste.

He furrows his brow. Yes, we must. Please don’t… He groans. That’s right, she’s the prime minister now. He softens his expression. Pardon me.

Charlie can’t help but smile. With your permission, sir, I’d like to lead this mission. Allow me to assemble a team and leave as soon as possible.

Vincent nods. Choose a small group and choose wisely. Lieutenant Colonel Schermer must stay with the Council as the Guard commander, and Lieutenant Tatsu must also stay as he is the only remaining senior guardsman. The rest of the Council Guard and Order of Knights are at your disposal.

Charlie no longer smiles. Sir, Tatsu and I have a history. I believe—

Vincent raises his hand. Tatsu stays.

You see, he and I—

Vincent points at Charlie. Do NOT make me say it again.

Charlie holds his breath while he decides what to do. He deflates. Yes sir.

Vincent smiles at Charlie. "I do have a favor to ask of you, Arashi-Ōdachi. If at all possible, I’d like you to use your sword to kill Dr. Melgaard and whoever he’s working with. If that can’t be managed, at least feed it their blood... As much of it as you can."

Charlie allows his lips to creep into a grin. It would be my pleasure.

Be prepared to receive a mission briefing from Lieutenant Colonel Schermer soon, before we move the Council. Until then, rest up. Vincent lays back down. Dismissed.

Schermer finds an adequate bowl to use for Korina’s ceremony, and her phone rings. It’s General William Campbell. She takes a deep breath and finds a place to sit down. General, I need to ask a favor.

When she hangs up from her conversation with him and stands, before her screen returns to black, she receives a call from Jules. Her expression relaxes as she raises the phone beside her short, blonde hair. You got my message... Thank you for calling me back.

Of course. I told Charlie...Colonel Costanza that I’d be happy to help.

Schermer bites her lip. So, what have you got for us?

"A fixer by the name Johannes. He’s based in Hawaii, and he can help you in New Zealand."

She smiles. Where will the team find him?

I assume the team will be stopping to refuel at Pearl Harbor-Hickam?

That’s correct.

Johannes will meet them on the runway.

Schermer sighs. Jules, thank you.

Good luck.

-click-

Dr. Melgaard and his jet land on the north island of New Zealand, in Auckland, but only to refuel. A little over two hours later, they land in Queenstown on the south island. As the jet taxis into the open doors of a hangar, a large helicopter outside starts to spin up its blades.

Waiting for the jet inside the hangar is Dr. Kazumi Oshiro and a security guard. Kazumi’s black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her rimless glasses are barely visible around her vibrant green eyes. When Lars walks out of the plane and sees her, he makes a point to seem pleasant.

Kazumi also forces a smile.

The bay door to the hangar is open, and a wind blows Lars’ hair into his face. He brushes it aside with a scowl. When he reaches Kazumi on the ground below, he motions to the case she holds in her hand. Ready for work I see.

Always. Is Ms. Wollstone still unconscious?

Indeed. Lars checks his watch. Still on Eastern. What’s the local time?

Four am. The helicopter is waiting. Are you going first or are you sending her? She lifts the case. I want to get to work as soon as I’m able.

He scowls. You’re to save all material collected from Ms. Wollstone. You remember that I have additional—

Kazumi clears her throat and motions to the helicopter outside. I have all the sample containers in the helicopter, and I will save every bit from her.

He nods. Good. You, Mary, and her nurse will go first. The boys and I will take the next trip. -Clong!-

The two men on the security detail carry Mary out on a stretcher, and the man walking backward slipped on a step. He smashes into the metal railing of the plane’s stairwell to catch himself, and he jostles the stretcher.

Erica Wakkana turns and smacks the man on the back. Watch it! Be careful with her.

Sorry, ma’am.

Lars turns back to Kazumi. Everything is ready as I instructed?

She dips her brow toward him. Of course. I’ll see you back at The Plant. She walks out the bay door to the helicopter.

He nods, then returns to the plane to get his samples. He checks the most recent culture, one that he started only an hour ago, and a smile consumes his face. This...is unbelievable! He does some quick math. We’ll be able to move much faster than we thought! He sits back in the chair and shakes his head. We can launch all angles of our attack…within a week.

On the helicopter, once Mary is loaded in and the other passengers climb aboard, the doors are shut, and the blades begin to spin faster. Erica puts on a headset that includes a boom microphone, and she turns on her transmitter. She looks at Kazumi, who is studying Mary’s roughly amputated arm. Erica places a hand on Kazumi’s forearm to get her attention, then she points to another headset.

Kazumi puts it on and turns on the radio transmitter. What’s up?

Lars had me up all night working. I hope your last thirty-six hours have been less crazy than mine.

Kazumi smiles and opens her case across her lap. On one side sits shiny surgical tools: scalpels, forceps, clamps, tongs, and a saw. On the other sits a set of industrial calipers—accurate to one one-hundred-thousandth of an inch, a rack of pins and tubes of different sizes, and a small hammer. I’ve been busy as well. She picks up the saw and motions to Mary. She’s being held under I take it?

Erica grimaces while imagining the blood spurts that will accompany the next few minutes. Deep under. Can’t you wait until we land? I don’t think shaky helicopters make good operating rooms.

She shrugs. No time to spare. I’ll go slow.

I’m going to close my eyes, alright?

Kazumi turns away and rolls her eyes. If you don’t have the stomach for this, it’s a damn good thing you don’t know what you’re helping us do. She sighs and motions to Mary. Help me first. Rip off the rest of that sleeve and lift her arm.

Mary’s coat’s sleeve is long gone, but some bloodied fabric of her coat and blouse still hangs over her upper arm. Erica finds the seams at the shoulder and carefully tears the fabric. Finally, she lifts the stump of Mary’s arm while Kazumi places an additional tourniquet on it, closer to the shoulder. Great, thanks.

Erica sets the arm back down. Sure. She turns away and closes her eyes to hide from the horrific scene she’s already imagining.

Kazumi places the saw a few inches up from the tip of Mary’s arm stump—in the middle of her upper arm—just below the new tourniquet. Now pass me that box of sample containers from behind you, please. And get some gauze pads ready; this is going to be messy.

Lieutenant Colonel Schermer gathers all Knights and Squires of the Order present at the hospital, including all available Council Guards. Elders and members of the High Council are also invited, but for this assembly, they collect in the back.

Schermer, who doesn’t hold the highest rank in the Order of Knights, but who holds the highest commission as Commander of the Council Guard, stands in one corner of the small hospital lounge. In her arms, she holds a large glass bowl filled with blood, and beside her stands Jambavan, the Order’s newest knight.

Vincent is wheeled into the room, and he nods to Schermer.

She clears her throat, and the room falls silent. As she looks deep into the eyes of every vampire in the room, her own eyes water. "We lost a knight yesterday. As a senior officer on the Council Guard, you knew her as Captain Korina Sarkis. You knew her as a peer, as a brave warrior at your side, and as a friend.

We also welcome her most recent squire, Jambavan, into the Order of Knights.

While his eyes were downcast and sorrowful, he looks up and breathes deep.

Schermer passes him the bowl of blood. Jambavan, take this blood and drink. The blood that fills our veins, that spills our wounds, and that marks our graves binds us together. Know that your knight lives on in your blood, as she does in ours.

He takes the bowl and raises it to his lips. He hides the pain from last night’s injuries, and he pauses, waiting for the phrase he knows must come.

Life in the blood—

He takes a sip and swallows. Death in the blood. He passes the bowl to a tall knight beside him. Life in the blood—

Gabriel takes the bowl and drinks. Death in the blood.

After a couple minutes, every other knight and squire present has sipped from the bowl, and it is passed back to Schermer. She drinks and speaks the mantra, then she hands the bowl once again to Jambavan.

He stares into the last sip of blood that sits in the bowl, and he waits.

Schermer extends her hand toward the bowl. This ceremonial vessel is sacred now, because it has bound us together today. We knights, however, are servants to the Vampire Order. We are vessels ourselves in that service. We need no relic to remind us of our fallen sister, for she lives on within us.

Jambavan raises the bowl to his lips and drinks the last of the blood within it. Then, with all his energy—fueled by both his sadness and his rage—he hurls the bowl to the ground below him.

-SMASH!-

The simple glass bowl, turned into a relic, is destroyed. The shards blast between the legs of the vampire knights and squires, but not one of them flinch.

While Jambavan breathes hard beside her, Schermer nods. "Our fallen sister’s knight’s name, Neith, shall forever be remembered.

After the ceremony, Lieutenant Colonel Schermer releases the elders and high councilors present. Jambavan walks into the gathered crowd, and as he passes between them, hands fall on his shoulders. The collar bone on his right side is fractured, but he stomachs the pain. He approaches Charlie with a clenched jaw, and he pauses.

Charlie wraps his arms around the boy, giving him a great hug.

The pressure from the embrace frees Jambavan’s tears, and he cries.

Schermer clears her throat. We’re not through here yet. Colonel?

Charlie releases Jambavan, and as he makes his way to the front, he glances to the faces of the others present. He doesn’t recognize many, and two knights he would recognize—Tatsu and Flying Eagle—are nowhere to be found. He frowns. Hmm, must be on duty. He reaches the front and turns around to face the group.

Some slight conversation has sprouted up in the room, and Schermer whistles. Order of Knights, attention!

Everyone snaps into the attention stance.

At ease.

They each slide a leg out and stand at the ready.

There’s an emergency that requires immediate action. The situation is straightforward. Dr. Melgaard is believed to be en route to New Zealand. We believe he’s behind High Councilor Wollstone’s kidnapping, and it’s possible that he’s brought her with him. At the very least, we need to attempt a rescue operation and apprehend the doctor. We don’t know what his plans are, or those of this mysterious entity called Væir, but from what happened here in DC, it’s clear that if additional plans exist, they must be stopped. Colonel Costanza is going to lead a team to neutralize any threat the doctor may pose, recover him if possible, and if Ms. Wollstone is present, rescue her.

Charlie connects with the gazes of the knights looking at him. He spots Eddy and Jambavan standing alongside Enrique in a wheelchair. Jambavan stands tall, and Charlie nods to him.

Schermer continues. We have cooperation from the U.S. military, and the team will fly out at fourteen-hundred hours. After refueling in Hawaii and picking up a fixer, they’ll be continuing to New Zealand. Colonel?

Charlie takes a step forward. I regret that I don’t know all of you and your strengths; I’ve been out of action for a little while. I’ve identified some key roles required for this mission, and if any of these are your specialty, please stick around and introduce yourself after the meeting. The son of a bitch we need to murder has shown a penchant for electronic gadgets. Two human specialists from the military will be joining us to help us on that angle, so we’ll also need to keep their needs in mind.

There’s a slight murmur in the gathered crowd, but Charlie continues. The two humans, plus myself and the fixer brings the count up to four. He scans the room. I can only take six of you, so hard choices need to be made. I’ll need someone experienced in medicine and battlefield surgery. Infiltration skills will be useful. Also, I have the feeling we’ll be needing firepower, so if you have any modern, tactical weapons experience, you’re needed. His eyes fall on Jambavan, and much to Charlie’s disappointment, the boy casts his eyes away.

Finally, New Zealand has a variety of geographies and climates, including mountains and rivers. To cover the bases, anyone with climbing experience, aqueous assault or whatever, or nonconventional warfare would also be an asset. His eyes meet Eddy’s. We’re going to get him and bring Mary back, whatever the costs. If you have a personal vendetta, or any additional information that may be useful, please also stay behind and speak with me. That is all. Thank you.

He takes a step back, and everyone in attendance looks to Schermer.

She clears her throat. There’s more. We’re moving the House of Elders and High Council members who are present to a more secure location, but I’m short of guards. Anyone that doesn’t stay behind to speak with Colonel Costanza, please wait for me in the hall. I have authority from the War and Defense Cabinet to temporarily conscript additional guards. Dismissed.

Most of the knights stream out of the lounge, while about a dozen stay behind. Charlie raises his hands up. Everyone, please form a circle.

Jambavan and Eddy roll Enrique forward, and they stand alongside Charlie. Past them stand Hecate, Ricochet, Deina, Ghost, Gabriel, Naga, Balena, and on Charlie’s other side, Qilin.

Charlie looks each in the eye. Okay, well, let’s go around and just say your name and why you stayed behind. Jambavan, start.

The newest member of the Order of Knights pauses before meeting Charlie’s gaze. I can offer advice on climbing and some tactical weapons, but I’m afraid I can’t go with you. He swallows and steels his eyes. The doctor is responsible for events that lead to my knight’s death, and I feel I am currently too emotionally compromised to participate in this mission. A tear breaks free, and it meets his snarling teeth. I would ignore my orders and allegiance to anyone just to see him bleed. I would be a risk, and I cannot be included in this mission…sir.

Charlie frowns, but he nods. I will see him bleed for you... Next.

Eyes fall onto the squire in the wheelchair. I’m Enrique, and I should be able to walk around again tomorrow. I don’t have any skills that you’re looking for necessarily, but I’ll volunteer to help.

Charlie smirks. Next.

Eddy snaps into attention. My squire name is Leo, sir. Dr. Melgaard hurt my friend, and I’m good with computers. Also, I’m a really good shot with rifles. Finally, I’m creative and good at improvisation.

Charlie grins and gives his son an approving nod before moving down the line. Next.

The woman with green-tipped hair who wears Victorian-styled leather clears her throat. I’m Hecate. I collected a device from one of the metro tunnels. Studying it may give insight to the tech you’ll face.

Charlie swallows. Would you mind joining us, Hecate? Your mid-range deadliness is legendary.

I’d be happy to, Colonel. I also have some climbing experience.

Excellent, but call me Charlie. Next.

A man with a buzzed haircut and sharp features salutes. Ricochet, sir. Tactical weapons at your disposal.

Charlie salutes back. Next. He looks at the woman beside Ricochet, and he recognizes her as the other junior guard that has been helping with hospital security. She still wears combat boots, but her usually stern face is softened today.

Deina, sir. Besides being trained in modern weaponry, I have dual PhDs in psychology and criminal justice with a specialty in hostage negotiation. Also, I’ve written three books on megalomania and the psychosis of villainy. Dr. Melgaard is clearly demented, and my skills will be invaluable on this mission.

Charlie squints and tilts his head. That’s a very impressive resume, but I’m not sure we’ll need those skills.

I beg to differ sir, especially if there’s a larger plan.

He frowns. Negotiating with them wasn’t part of my plan, but—

Sir?

What?

You need me on this mission.

We have limited space, and I’ll discuss it with my…the prime minister and the War and Defense Cabinet. Thank you. Next?

Deina frowns.

The short woman beside her is dressed in blacks and very dark grays. Like Ricochet, she has never met Charlie. I’m Ghost. I can sneak into anywhere and kill anyone.

Charlie laughs. Think you could use our help, or should we just send you?

She smiles. I don’t like guns or techie things, so I’ll need some help. Besides, I’d get lonely by myself.

Others chuckle, and even Deina cracks a smile. Charlie asks the next in line to introduce themselves.

I am Gabriel. I believe we met in the early 1800’s, sir. Since then, I have gained extensive medical training and have served as a battlefield surgeon in fifteen warzones since 1935.

Charlie swallows while nodding in recollection. Welcome back, Gabriel... Hopefully we won’t need your expertise.

Unfortunately, I believe you will.

Charlie frowns and turns to the monster standing beside Gabriel. Next.

The knight tilts his bald and tattooed head down to look Charlie dead in the eyes. My name is Naga. I have amphibious warfare experience. Also, I saw firsthand the devastation the doctor caused in DC. I would gladly sacrifice my life to end his.

Charlie studies the huge knight’s unflinching eyes. Thank you, Naga. Next. You look familiar...

An African American woman with short cropped black hair looks back at him. Balena sir, active Navy SEAL. She doesn’t show any emotion, just a steadfast determination.

Done. Have we met?

No.

Charlie shrugs. Okay. Next. He turns to the last knight in the circle, Qilin, to his right. In line with the huge Naga and the slightly taller-than-typical Balena, Qilin looks almost miniaturized. "I have no experience related to what