Chapter 54

December Twenty-fifth 2:00 a.m E.S.T. 1:00 a.m. local time

A fiberglass recurve bow in his hands, Mark crouched near one of the broken windows of the Prayer Tower, a building in the center of Oral Roberts University that looked like a UFO impaled halfway down a two-hundred foot high spike. Two windows to his left, George was similarly hunkered down with his own recurve.

Two windows to his right was Diane, a statuesque and curvaceous blond who had been one of the many people they had encountered on the journey from the hospital to the university. In addition to being one of the nicest bits of eye candy that Mark had seen in a long time, she was by far the most skilled archer in the group. As such, she had been entrusted with the compound bow that George had lugged around for most of the night.

With fully half the windows broken to provide firing ports, the wind howled through the disk shaped structure, making Mark's eyes water like mad and rendering it nearly impossible to hear anything that might be happening below. Nevertheless, he, and all the others poised at the windows, strained their eyes and ears in the hope of getting some warning before the next group of ferals attacked.

The tower was one of the last places that Mark wanted to be. Although it provided an excellent vantage point, with the elevators inoperable the only exit was down a single, long, winding staircase that led to the chapel on the ground floor. Under the current circumstances, it was little more than a death trap.

They'd had little choice, however. They had made it from the hospital to the campus without incident; their numbers swelling to well over a hundred adults and half as many children as they picked up survivors along the way. Some had fled their homes while the ferals that had intruded fed on family, friends or neighbors. Others had been caught in the traffic snarls and had run when bullets had rained down from above, or death had come for the occupants of nearby vehicles in the form of a pack of ferals. All were frightened, exhausted and confused. One look in their dazed and glassy eyes had precluded any suggestion that they be sent away on their own.

Once on the campus, which was nearly deserted for the holiday break, they had found the caretaker and convinced him to let them inside Cooper Center, the university's general athletics building. With the caretaker's assistance, they had quickly found a storage room that contained a number of the traditional recurve bows and an abundant supply of wooden arrows with training tips.

While they had been busily chopping off those tips and sharpening the wood beneath, the first wave of ferals had struck. Dressed in the garb of doctors and nurses or wearing gowns stamped with the words "Orthopedic Hospital of Oklahoma," they had overwhelmed those left guarding the entrance and swarmed inside.

The ensuing battle had been chaotic, fought in the flickering light cast by flashlights being swung wildly from side to side. When the group had managed to fight their way free and rally outside, there had only been eighty-three adults left.

While they had been taking stock of the weapons and people that remained, another group of ferals had struck from the darkness. After that second group had been dispatched, there had been a third, and then a fourth. Although each pack consisted of no more than ten ferals and sometimes as few as four, their ferocity, strength and speed took their toll on the much larger group of humans. Each pack had pushed Mark and the others farther back towards the center of the campus while whittling away at their numbers.

They had tried to seek shelter in the massive Learning Center, but the doors had been locked and the caretaker had fallen in the fighting by a small bridge not far from the athletics building. No one had thought to grab his keys, and none were willing to go back. They could have forced their way through the glass front, but that would have allowed the ferals easy access as well.

Exhausted from the non-stop fighting and running, they had stopped to rest in the chapel at the base of the Prayer Tower. There they had found nearly every student who had elected to stay at the university over the break, praying by candlelight. The students had gaped in horror as the group fought off the next wave of ferals, but had refused to join them when the group had voted, over the protests of a minority led by Mark, to move to their current location. Instead, the earnest young men and women had insisted that the strength of their faith and the presence of Christ in the chapel would protect them from any undead.

After reason had failed, Mark reluctantly let them have their way. His group didn't really have the means to hold them prisoner, and that was what it would have taken. Besides, no matter what Mia had told him so long ago, for all he knew they could be right.

In short, while the plan to hunt down the vampire leaders had been a noble one, no one, not even Mark, had been prepared for the reality of the situation. There were too many ferals, too many civilians who couldn't defend themselves, and no place that guaranteed safety. By mutual consent, the plan had been abandoned.

Mark glanced around the room. There were little more than fifty of them left now, most huddled together against the central wall in various stages of shock and shivering with cold. Some kept trying to dial their cell phones, holding out some feeble hope that the night had been nothing but a bad dream and that service would soon be suddenly and miraculously restored. Others simply clutched their arms around their knees and rocked back and forth, their sanity shaken by the things they had seen that night. One young couple was discretely making love, sharing comfort and body heat in the best way they knew how.

The only source of illumination was the battery powered emergency lights in the stairwell shining through the partially open door. Even that was mostly blocked by the trio who stood along the top railing with arrows nocked and ready. Other than Diane, the three were their elite: two men and a woman who had years of experience as bow hunters or tournament archers.

Valerie, the daughter of the widower who had fallen at the hospital, wandered over with Barney the dog clutched one handed to her chest. She again had a thumb in her mouth and her eyes and face had a distant, vacant look. Mark pulled her in for a hug, but, while she didn't resist, she didn't respond either. Theresa, with Jill held in one arm and Junior tightly gripping her pant leg, came over to gently guide the poor child back to where they had been huddled together for warmth.

"I think I heard something," George whispered.

Mark strained his ears, but could hear nothing. He took one of the three road flares from his pocket, one the precious eleven total possessed by the group, and held it up for George to see. The flares were the only means they had to light up the ground as the beams of flashlights were unable to pierce the hard falling rain.

George shook his head. He wasn't certain enough to risk using up one of the few flares or drawing more attention to themselves.

While Mark was tucking the flare back into his pocket, screams sounded from below, answering two questions. George had heard something after all, and the college students' faith hadn't been enough to protect them.

Diane raced over to join the archers at the top of the stairs. Mark stayed where he was. Four people were already stretching the capacity of the landing; another would just get in the way. Even from his position, he could hear rapid and heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. Instead of the expected twang of bowstrings, however, calls of encouragement sounded from the stairs. One of the college students must have survived!

Stepping closer, Mark added his own voice to the mix, although he still couldn't see anything. The archers abruptly fell silent and began to rapidly pull and release, sending wooden shafts speeding down the stairs. Grunts of pain and howls of rage echoed up from below. Many of the children, and more than a few of the adults, began to weep at the sound.

One of the archers stepped to the side, and a young man that Mark recognized from the chapel crawled, panting and shaking, past. Mark and George went forward to pull him out into the main room. They then eased him down to sit up against the inner wall, giving him a chance to catch his breath and let the adrenalin induced shakes to subside.

The thrum of bowstrings continued well after the pounding of feet and enraged growls came to a stop as the archers made sure that their targets were down. The second they stopped, a pair who had been waiting by the door rushed forward and down, carrying a bundle of improvised stakes and a hammer.

Mark turned his attention to look back out the broken window, straining to hear anything over the sounds of falling rain, howling wind and hammers on wood. As the cold wind blew around him, he had a sudden realization.

"Every attack has come from the south; from downwind," he whispered.

George considered this a moment. "Yeah, I think you're right. Uh, so?"

"They can smell us. That's why we're being attacked so often. Bringing this many frightened people up this high and then breaking the windows ... fuck, we might as well have rung a dinner bell."

George twisted around to look over the other people in the room. "We're going to have a hard time getting them moving again."

Mark had to agree. "So far, we're managing to recover most of our arrows. Maybe even with the all the attacks we'll be able to hold out until dawn. To be honest, I'm almost as worried about everyone getting hypothermia as I am about getting eaten. Besides, now that it's raining a lot harder, bows won't work very well or very long outside. We'd be meat out there. Literally."

Bleakly, they turned to again keep watch. Mark was so intent on listening for the soft sounds of footfalls far below that the loud and sudden squawk of the radio made him jump with surprise. George reached out a steadying hand. Without it, Mark might well have tumbled out the broken window to his death.

This broadcast was much louder and clearer than the earlier ones. It had to be coming from a base station rather than from a car or hand held radio. "This is the Tulsa Police Department requesting assistance from the State Police and the police departments of Avant, Okmulgee, Inola ... anyone that can hear this and can help. We have a Code 13 involving multiple 10-108's, 11-8's, 187's, 243's and 245's."

The voice became desperate, almost pleading, "Roads into the city are blocked. We'll send what few officers we have left to rendevous with reinforcements at Sand Springs Shopping Center to the west, Skyline Park to the south, Indian Hills Country Club to the east, and Crown Hill Cemetery to the north. Units will have to proceed on foot from those locations. Please send assistance. The city is in chaos, and there appears to be a massive terrorist attack underway. Most of us are down. Hurry, or the city will be lost."

Mark gaped at the radio in disbelief. Calling a major disaster activation with multiple homicides of police and civilians would pull the police from neighboring areas without fail.

Much more faintly, the first reply came almost immediately. "Tulsa, P.D., this is Okmulgee dispatch. Units are 10-39."

"Holy crap!" George exclaimed excitedly. "Did you hear that? There are some police left in the city. We have to help! Skyline Park is about six miles south. At least a few of us have to go there. I think we can make it."

Mark shook his head sadly. "It's a trap. It has to be. If there were any real police left in the city, they would have used the radio long before this. If I had to guess, I would say that the vamps have only been in major cities up until this point, but now, with the cities taken, they're calling in the rural police, either to make them into more vamps or to simply kill off potential opposition."

Mark hated himself for making the hope fade from all the nearby faces, but he knew he was speaking the truth.

His face again a mask of despair, George muttered, "We can't just sit here and do nothing. We have to stop them."

"Damn straight we do," Mark replied as he walked over to the remaining student of the university.

The kid had his hands over his face and was still blubbering about what he had seen below. Mark shook his shoulder.

"Son, we need a radio. A big one. Is there one on campus?"

"They killed Pam and Barb and Greg ... just tore them apart ... so much blood ... how could there be so much blood in a person?"

Those nearby jumped in surprise at the loud slap of skin on skin. The college boy rubbed his hand over the side of his face in shock as Mark lowered his own back to his side.

"I'm sorry about that, kid, but you need to pull yourself together, or a lot more people are going to die. Is there a radio on campus? One that has its own generator or is powered by batteries?"

"I think there's one in the administration offices. Pretty sure, anyway. I think that's what they used to call for a medevac last spring when a tornado knocked out the phones and power."

"You're doing good, son. Now, where are the administrative offices?"

"In the Learning Center. Big building. That way." The boys arm rose to point vaguely to the south.

"Thanks."

Mark again peered around the room. Getting everyone to move would be difficult and would take far more time than what they had. He also couldn't strip the group of its protectors. The only choice was to go alone. That's what it meant to be a cop; putting your own life on the line so others could stay safe. It was his...

"Why can't we just use the hand held?" Diane asked, breaking his train of thought and interrupting his attempt to build up enough bravery to face the dark, rainy night by himself.

"Not enough range," Mark answered absently.

She considered that for a moment and then nodded her head. "Okay. I'm coming with you."

He looked back at her in surprise. "You don't have to do that. This could be a suicide mission. Besides, you're the best archer we have..."

"All the better reason for me to come with you. There are lots of archers here, so my absence won't make a whole lot of difference, but I might be big help out there. You're going to need someone to watch your back."

"Hold on a second," George interjected. "Why should you be the one to go, Mark? I can run faster..."

"What he said," Brian added.

Mark held up a hand to forestall further protest. "Neither of you can run faster than a vampire any more than I can. Your families are here and need you. Stay." Talk of their families reminded him of his own. He wondered if he had been wrong, and this was happening in Pittsburgh, too. Was Jenny okay? Not knowing was painful.

Before anyone else could try to talk him out of it, and possibly succeed, Mark tucked one of the small sledge hammers and one of the radios into his belt and walked briskly to the stairs. Diane followed a step behind. They descended as quickly as the bodies clogging the stairs allowed to the chapel that looked like a scene from a horror movie.

Steeling himself, trying not to see the grisly aftermath of the feral feeding frenzy, he strode to the door and stepped outside. The cold rain running down his face and the back of his neck and the fresh, stiff breeze ruffling his hair came as a relief after the thick, unclean smell of blood and death within. With a nod to Diane, he started to run. To his surprise, nothing jumped out of the darkness to drink his blood, and, only minutes later, they stood outside the glass doors that led into the dark interior of the Learning Center.

As Diane stood watch, he used the sledge to smash out the glass front of one of the doors. Stepping inside, he shined his flashlight from side to side, illuminating the fronts of the small cafes and eating establishments that kept the student population fed. On one wall, a small sign read, "Admissions and Administration." Next to it, an arrow pointed the way.

While Diane stood guard in the hallway, he forced his way into the suite of offices, kicking in doors as necessary. Mark was beginning to think that this foray had been a wild goose chase when he noticed an amber standby light beckoning warmly from the corner of one of the rooms.

The radio was a modern one with a built in rechargeable power supply. A thick antenna cable ran down the wall and vanished into the floor. If he was lucky, it was connected to an antenna at the top of the Prayer Tower, giving him all the range he needed and more.

He studied the controls briefly before reaching in to turn a dial to a frequency monitored by the police. "This is Lieutenant Mark Kimmel of the Pittsburgh Police Department. Disregard the previous message from the Tulsa P.D. Repeat, disregard the message from the Tulsa, P.D. There is an attack underway in the city, but the terrorists conducting it infiltrated the police. The previous broadcast was an attempt to lead rural police departments into a trap and leave the entire region vulnerable. The city is in trouble and in dire need of assistance, but, with power and communications out, the situation is too chaotic to reliably tell friend from foe. Send help, but, please, wait until dawn. If you can hear this, please relay this message to other departments."

He had barely released the transmit button when the Tulsa P.D. responded. "Don't listen to him. He must be with the terrorists. The city can still be saved, but we need help now."

Mark responded, "If you have phone service or can relay a radio message back and forth to Pittsburgh, contact Dennis Jacobs, Chief of the Pittsburgh City Police. He can vouch for me and explain more about what is going on. Again, send help, but wait until dawn."