Chapter 8

Tom listened to the operation over the radio and had heard the orderly commands and replies of the SWAT team turn to gunfire and screams of pain followed by silence. He arrived at the premises less than five minutes later to find a scene straight out of hell. Bodies in blue uniforms lay everywhere, the entire scene painted in the rich carmine hues of fresh blood. He stared numbly for a moment, wondering how something like this could possibly have happened. He finally tore his eyes from the grisly scene and hurriedly put in the call for ambulances and back up before searching for survivors.

Mark was the only person he found still alive among the carnage, and Mark had lost so much blood that he might not remain so for long. Although it had pained him to do so, Tom left Mark impaled in the hedges, knowing that if he pulled him loose it would increase the blood loss. He applied what little first aid he could through the thick branches, while beseeching Mark to "just hold on."

Moments later, ambulances and squad cars descended on the place in a wail of sirens and a glare of flashing lights. The paramedics immediately started Mark on a unit of blood before cutting him from the hedges with bolt cutters, leaving the branches stuck in his body wherever they could.

Tom rode to the hospital in the back of Mark's ambulance and waited with Mark's wife, Jenny, for more than two hours before one of the doctors emerged from the operating room. Tom and Jenny rushed to intercept him.

"How is he, doctor?" Tom blurted out, realizing too late that he probably should let Jenny ask the questions. The slight resentment on her face showed that he was correct.

The doctor raised his hands in a placating manner, and a tired smile appeared faintly on his lips. "He lost a lot of blood and a number of major veins and arteries were lacerated. However, we got the worst of the damage patched up, and replaced most of the lost fluids. His condition is stable and we expect a full recovery."

Tom sagged in relief and missed Jenny's next few queries to the doctor, snapping his attention back to the conversation only when she asked, "How soon can we see him."

The doctor's voice was sympathetic, "He's in post-op right now under observation. He's still unconscious, which is not unusual given the extent of his injuries. Unless complications arise, we'll likely move him to the IC ward in about an hour. Once there, he will be allowed visitors on a very limited basis. I'm sorry, but we really can't have him getting excited at all for a time."

Tom and Jenny both nodded their understanding. The doctor motioned Tom off to the side and leaned in close, "I've been told what happened, Detective. I understand that you need some answers and that the nature of the situation is such that you need them ASAP. When Mr. Kimmel wakes up, you can have five minutes with him. I'll have to insist that I remain in the room to monitor his condition throughout the conversation."

Tom nodded his acceptance of the conditions, "Thanks, Doc." He then went to explain the situation to Jenny. She wasn't happy, but she had accepted the conditions that came with Mark's profession long ago.

It was an hour before the doctor came to lead Tom to the IC ward. Mark was encased in a corona of plastic tubes and swathed in bandages. His eyes were squinted in pain, his skin pale. Tom squeezed in among the acres of blinking and beeping machines that surrounded the bed and reached out to take his friend's hand. As the sheer volume of Mark's injuries became apparent, Tom felt his eyes begin to tear.

Mark looked up at him and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "You pussy," he croaked, "Cops don't cry."

"Shuddup, I was just feeling bad for the guy who got his ass kicked by a bush. I mean just imagine what the guys at the station are going to have to say about this," Tom shook his head sadly before striking a dramatic pose with the back of his hand across his forehead, "Oh, the humiliation!"

Mark started to laugh but immediately collapsed in a fit of coughing. Both men noticed the doctor tapping his watch pointedly.

When Mark got his coughing under control, he motioned Tom to lean in closer. "I see you need the abridged version, so I'll make it quick. Our two perps were there, your girl and a guy who dressed like some scumbag lawyer. They were unarmed, but they still went through all of our guys like nothing. Tom, you're not going to believe this, but the guy had fucking claws on his fingers. I'm not talking Freddy Krueger knife shit either, but real honest-to-god claws. Claws that went through Kevlar like paper. He killed most of our men with them. One of the SWAT team emptied an M16 in the monster's chest and he fuckin' smiled about it before putting his fist right through the poor fucker. And your girl ... shit, man, your girl had three inch long fangs and broke a guy in half over her knee like it was nothing."

Mark collapsed backwards on his pillow and licked his lips before continuing, "They moved so fast. Too goddamned fast. She was going to kill me, Tom. I knew it. She was coming for me and there wasn't anything I could do to stop her. But she didn't. Tom, don't ask me why, but I think not killing me hurt her."

Mark grinned slightly at the look of incredulity on Tom's face, "Yeah, I know. I don't believe in fucking vampires either. Believe in them or not, though, that's exactly what they were. Fucking vampires."

The doctor was looking at one of the monitors with alarm, and sharply gestured that Tom's time was up. With a final squeeze of his friends hand, Tom said, "Rest up and get better, Mark. I swear I'll find them."

Mark looked up sadly, meeting Tom's eyes, "I'm a lot more worried about them finding you. Be careful, Tom. Good luck."

As the doctor ushered Tom from the room, he said, "We're not going to allow any visitors other than his wife until tomorrow. IC visiting hours are from noon to one and six to seven. No more than two visitors in the room at a time."

Tom shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks, Doc. You heard what he said?" At the doctor's terse nod, Tom continued, "Is he delusional?"

The doctor hesitated a moment before answering, "Extreme blood loss has been known to cause delusions. But, I have to tell you, word has been filtering up from the morgue. From what I've heard, no human being, not even one on fatally large doses of PCP, could have caused those injuries. I ... I'm having a hard time with the idea of vampires being real. Another possibility is that they had characteristics that fit with the myths surrounding vampires so that's what your friend decided they were. Maybe they're mutants or the result of some government experiment to create super soldiers." The doctor seemed to realize what he was saying and broke off with an embarrassed chuckle. "I know these guesses are almost as implausible as vampires, but I have an easier time with them than the idea of the dead rising to feed on the living. Hell, I don't know what to tell you other than, whatever they are, they're undoubtedly dangerous. Follow your friend's advice and be careful."

The idea of going back to his apartment was completely unappealing, so, after leaving the hospital, Tom drove to the station to get the paperwork related to the night started. The death of over thirty of his fellow officers brought with it a mountain of paperwork. How could they have lost an entire SWAT team, no matter what the nature of the targets? It was the first time ever that such a thing had happened since SWAT teams were first implemented in 1967.

As he waded through the fringes of the daunting mound of forms, his mind turned again and again to what Mark and the doctor had told him at the hospital. Could there really be vampires running amuck in his city? Were they the undead of myth? It suddenly occurred to him to wonder, if they were undead, did that make him a necrophiliac? How in the hell was he going to explain this to the chief?

It was going on three in the morning when Tom finally decided to go home to get some rest. As he staggered down the hallway leading to his apartment, he noticed that light was shining out from under his door. All thought of sleep vanished as adrenalin rushed through his body. Drawing his gun, he moved slowly and silently to the door and listened, but could hear nothing. He took his keys from his pocket and, as quietly as possible, unlocked the door and eased it open.

He moved carefully into the interior of the apartment, his eyes searching all of the corners and shadows of the entry hall. He crept to the living room and there was Mia sitting on his couch, her arms wrapped around the knees she had pulled tightly to her chest.

"Put your hands where I can see them. No sudden moves or I swear I'll shoot," he commanded.

Mia slowly turned her head towards him, a look of sadness and loss on her face. With a sigh, she said, "Relax, Tom. If I had come here to kill you, you would already be lying on the floor in a pile of your own entrails."