Christopher Pike - The Last Vampire 03 - Red Dice

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The Last Vampire 03
Christopher Pike
1
I am a vampire. Blood does not bother me. I like blood. Even seeing my own blood does not frighten
me. But what my blood can do to others—to the whole world for that matter—terrifies me. Once God
made me take a vow to create no more vampires. Once I believed in God. But my belief, like my vow,
has been shattered too many times in my long life. I am Alisa Perne, the now-forgotten Sita, child of a
demon. I am the oldest living creature on earth.
I awake in a living room smelling of death. I watch as my blood trickles through a thin plastic tube into
the arm of Special Agent Joel Drake, FBI. He now lives as a vampire instead of the human being he was
when he closed his eyes. I have broken my promise to Lord Krishna—Joel did not ask me to make him
a vampire. Indeed, he told me not to, to let him die in peace. But I did not listen. Therefore, Krishna's
protection, his grace, no longer applies to me. Perhaps it is good. Perhaps I will die soon. Perhaps not.
I do not die easily.
I remove the tubing from my arm and stand. At my feet lies the body of Mrs. Fender, mother of Eddie
Fender, who also lies dead, in a freezer at the end of the hall. Eddie had been a vampire, a very powerful
one, before I cut off his head. I step over his mother's body to search for a clock. Somehow, fighting the
forces of darkness, I have misplaced my watch. A clock ticks in the kitchen above the stove. Ten
minutes to twelve. It is dark outside.
I have been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours.
Joel will awaken soon, I know, and then we must go. But I do not wish to leave the evidence of my
struggle with Eddie for the FBI to examine. Having seen how Eddie stole and used the blood of my
creator, Yaksha, I know I must vaporize this sick house. My sense of smell is acute, as is my hearing.
The pump that cools the large freezer in the back is not electric but powered by gasoline. I smell large
amounts of fuel on the back porch. After I toss the gasoline all over the house, and wake Joel, I will
strike a match. Fire pleases me, although it has the power to destroy me. Had I not been a vampire, I
might have become a pyromaniac.
The gasoline is stored in two twenty-gallon steel tanks. Because I have the strength of many men, I have
no trouble lifting them both at once. Yet even I am surprised by how light they feel. Before I passed out, I
was like Joel, on the verge of death. Now I am stronger than I can ever remember being. There is a
reason. Yaksha gave me what blood he had left in his veins before I buried him in the sea. He gave me
his power, and I never realized how great it was until this moment. It is a wonder I was able to defeat
Eddie, who also drank from Yaksha. Perhaps Krishna came to my aid, one last time.
I take the drums into the living room. From the freezer, I remove Eddie's body, severed head, and even
the hard blood on the freezer floor. I pick them all up and place them on my living room barbecue. Next I
begin to break up the couch and tables into easy-to-burn pieces. The noise causes Joel to stir but he
does not waken. Newborn vampires sleep deep and wake up hungry. I wonder if Joel will be like my
beloved Ray, reluctant to drink from the living. I hope not. I loved Ray above all things, but as a vampire,
he was a pain in the ass.
I think of Ray.
He has been dead less than two days.
"My love," I whisper. "My sorrow."
There is no time for grief; there never is. There is no time for joy, I think bitterly. Only for life, pain,
death. God did not plan this creation. It was a joke to him, a dream. Once, in a dream, Krishna told me
many secrets. But he may have lied to me. It would have been like him.
I am almost done throwing the fuel around and tearing up the house when I hear the sound of
approaching cars. There are no sirens but I know these are police cruisers. Police drive differently from
nor-mal people, worse actually. They drive faster and the officers in these squad cars are anxious to get
here. I have incredibly sensitive hearing—I count at least twenty vehicles. What brings them here?
I glance at Joel.
"Are they coming for Eddie?" I ask him. "Or for me? What did you tell your superiors?"
But perhaps I am too quick to judge, too harsh. Los Angeles has seen many strange sights lately, many
bodies killed by superhumans. Perhaps Joel has not betrayed me, at least not intentionally. Perhaps I
have betrayed myself. I have gotten sloppy in my old age. I hurry to Joel's side and shake him roughly.
"Wake up," I say. "We have to get out of here."
He opens his drowsy eyes. "You look different," he whispers.
"Your eyes are different."
Realization crosses his face. "Did you change me?"
"Yes."
He swallows weakly. "Am I still human?"
I sigh. "You're a vampire."
"Sita."
I put a finger to his lips. "Later. We must leave here quickly. Many cops are coming." I pull him to his
feet and he groans. "You will feel stronger in a few minutes. Stronger than you have ever felt before."
I find a Bic lighter in the kitchen, and we head forthe front door. But before we can reach it I hear three
cruisers skid to a halt outside. We hurry to the back, but the situation is the same. Cops, weapons
drawn, have jumped out of their cars with whirling blue and red lights cutting paths in the night sky. More
vehicles appear, armored monstrosities with SWAT teams in-side. Searchlights flash on and light up the
house. We are surrounded. I do not do well in such situations, or else, one might say, I do very well—for
a vampire. What I mean is, being trapped brings out my most vicious side. I push aside my recently
acquired revul-sion for violence. Once, in the Middle Ages, sur-rounded by an angry mob, I killed over a
hundred men and women.
Of course, they didn't have guns.
A bullet in the head could probably kill me, I think.
"Am I really a vampire?" Joel asks, still trying to catch up with reality.
"You're not an FBI agent anymore," I mutter.
He shakes himself as he straightens up. "But I am. Or at least they think I am. Let me talk to them."
"Wait." I stop him, thinking. "I can't have them examine Eddie's remains. I don't trust what will happen to
his blood. I don't trust what his blood can still do. I must destroy it, and to do that I must burn down this
house."
Outside, through a bullhorn, a gruff-voiced man calls for us to come out with our hands in the air. Such
an unimaginative way of asking us to surrender.
Joel knew what Eddie had been capable of. "I waswondering why everything smelled like gasoline," he
remarks. "You light the place on fire—I have no problem with that. But then what are you going to do?
You can't fight this army."
"Can't I?" I peer out the front window and raise my eyes to the rhythmic thrumming in the sky. They
have a helicopter. Why? All to catch the feared serial killer? Yes, such a beast would demand heavy
forces. Yet I sense a curious undercurrent in the assembled men and women. It reminds me of when
Slim, Yalcsha's assassin, came looking for me. Slim's people had been warned that I was not normal. As
a result, I barely escaped. In the same way, these people know that there is something unusual about me.
I can almost read their thoughts.
This strikes me as strange.
I have always been able to sense emotions. Now, can I read thoughts, too?
What power has Yaksha's blood given me?
"Alisa," Joel says, calling me by my modern name. "Even you cannot break free of this circle." He
notices I'm lost in thought. "Alisa?"
"They think there is a monster in here," I whisper. "Ihear their minds." I grip Joel. "What did you tell
them about me?"
He shakes his head. "Some things."
"Did you tell them I was powerful? Fast?"
He hesitates, then sighs. "I told them too much. But they don't know you're a vampire." He, too, peers
through the curtains. "They were getting suspicious about how the others died, torn to pieces. They had
my file on Eddie Fender, including where his mother lived. They must have tracked us here that way."
I shake my head. "I cannot surrender. It is against my nature."
He takes my hands. "You can't fight them all. You'll die."
I have to smile. "More of them would die." I lose my smile. "But if I do make a stand here, you will die
also." I am indecisive. His advice is logical. Yet my heart betrays me. I feel doom closing in. I speak
reluctantly. "Talk to them. Say what you think best. But I tell you—I will not leave this house with-out
setting it ablaze. There will be no more Eddie Fenders."
"I understand." He turns for the door, then stops. He speaks with his back to me. "I understand why you
did it."
"Do you forgive me?"
"Would I have died?" he asks.
"Yes."
He smiles gently, not turning to look at me. I feel the smile. "Then I must forgive you," he says. He raises
his hands above his head and reaches for the doorknob. "I hope my boss is out there."
Through a crack in the curtains I follow his prog-ress. Joel calls out his identity and a group of FBI
agents step forward. I can tell they're FBI by their suits. Joel is one of them. He looks the same as he did
yesterday. Yet they don't greet him as a friend. In an instant I grasp the full extent of their suspicions.
They know that whatever plague of death has been sweep-
ing L.A. is communicable. Eddie and I left too many bodies behind. Also, I remember the cop I freed.
The one whose blood I sampled. The one I told I was a vampire. The authorities may not have believed
that man, but they will think I am some kind of demon from hell.
Joel is handcuffed and dragged into an armored vehicle. He casts me a despairing glance before he
vanishes. I curse the fact that I listened to him. Now I, too, must be taken into the vehicle. Above all, I
must stay close to Joel. I don't know what he'll tell them. I don't know what they'll do with his blood.
Many of them are going to die, I realize.
The SWAT team cocks their weapons.
They call again for me to surrender.
I twirl the striker on the lighter and touch it to the wood I have gathered around Eddie's body. I say
goodbye to his ugly head. Hope the Popsicles you suck in hell cool your cracked and bleeding lips.
Casually, while the inferno spreads behind me, I step out the front door.
They are on me in an instant. Before I can reach the curb, my arms are pulled behind me and I am
handcuffed. They don't even read me my rights. You have the right to a pint of blood. If you cannot
afford one, the court will bleed a little for you. Yeah, I think sarcastically as they shove me into the back
of the armored vehicle where they threw Joel, I will be given all my rights as an American citizen. Behind
me I see them trying to put out the fire. Too bad they brought the firepower but forgot the fire engines.
The house is a funeral pyre. Eddie Fender will leave no legacy to haunt mankind.
But what about me? Joel?
Our legs are chained to the floor of the vehicle. Three men with automatic weapons and ghostly faces lit
from a single overhead light sit on a metal bench across from us, weapons trained on us. No one speaks.
Another two armed men sit up front, beside the driver. One carries a shotgun, the other a machine gun.
They are separated from us by what I know is bulletproof glass. It also acts as soundproofing. I can
break it with my little finger.
But what about the miniature army around us? They won't break so easily. As the door is closed and we
roll forward, I hear a dozen cars move into position around us. The chopper follows overhead, a
spotlight aimed down on our car. Their precautions border on the fanatical. They know I am capable of
extraordinary feats of strength. This realization sinks deep into my consciousness. For five thousand
years, except for a few isolated incidents, I have moved unknown through human history. Now I am
exposed. Now I am the enemy. No matter what happens, whether we escape or die trying, my life will
never be the same.
I'll have to tear up my credit cards.
"Where are you taking us?" I ask.
"You are to remain silent," the middle one says. He has the face of a drill sergeant, leathery skin, deeply
etched lines cut in from years of barking commands. Like his partners, he wears a flak jacket. I think I
would look nice in one. I catch his eye and smile faintly.
"What's the matter?" I ask. "Are you afraid of a young woman?"
"Silence," he snaps, shaking his weapon, shifting uncomfortably. My stare is strong medicine. It can burn
holes in brain neurons. My voice is hypnotic, when I wish it to be. I could sing a grizzly to sleep. I let my
smile widen.
"May I have a cigarette?" I ask.
"No," he says flatly.
I lean forward as far as I can. These men, for all their plans, have not come as well prepared as Slim's
people did. Yaksha had them bring cuffs made of a special alloy that 1 could not break. I can snap these
like paper. Yet they are seated close together, these SWAT experts, and they have three separate
weapons leveled directly at me. They could conceivably kill me before I could take out all of them. For
that reason I have to take a subtle approach.
Relatively speaking.
"I don't know what you've been told about me” I continue. "But I think it's way out of line. I have done
nothing wrong. Also, my friend here is an FBI agent. He shouldn't be treated this way. You should let him
go." I stare deep into the man's eyes, and I know all he sees is my widening black pupils, growing as
large as the dark sides of twin moons. I speak softly, "You should let him gonow."
The man reaches for his keys, then hesitates. The hesitation is a problem. Pushing a person's will is
always a hit-or-miss proposition. His partners are watching him now, afraid to look at me. The youngest
one rises half off his bench. He is suddenly scared and threatens me with his weapon.
“You shut your goddamn mouth!" he yells.
I lean back and chuckle. As I do, I catch his eye. Fear has made him vulnerable; he is an easy mark.
"What are you afraid of?" I ask. "That your com-mander will let me go? Or that you'll turn around and
shoot him?" I bore my gaze into his head. "Yeah, you could shoot him. Yeah, that might be fun."
"Alisa," Joel whispers, not enjoying my game.
The young man and the commander exchange worried glances. The third guy has sat up, panting, not
really understanding what is happening. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Joel shaking his head. Let him
see me at my worst, I think. It is the best way to begin our new relationship, without illusions. My eyes
dart from the commander to the young one. The tempera-ture inside their craniums is increasing. Ever so
slightly, each weapon begins to veer toward the other man's chest. Yet I know I'll have to push them a lot
harder to get them to let me go or kill each other. It is not necessary. I can do it on my own. Really, I just
want to distract them a bit—
Before I break them in two.
With their guns aimed away from me, they are vulnerable when I suddenly shoot my legs up, snap-ping
ray ankle chains. The third man, the one I have left untouched, reacts quickly, by human standards. But
he is moving in slow motion compared to a five-thousand-year-old vampire. As he reaches for the trigger
on his gun, my right foot lashes out and my big toe crushes his flak jacket, his breastbone, and the beating
heart beneath the two. The heart beats no more. The man crumples and falls into a pitiful ball.
"Should have given me the cigarette," I say to the commander as I snap my handcuffs and reach over to
take his head between my palms. His eyes grow round. His lips move. He wants to tell me something,
maybe apologize. I'm not in the mood. He is putty in my hands, Silly Putty once I squeeze my palms
together and crack his skull. Now his mouth falls open as his eyes slowly close. His brains leak out the
back, over his starched collar. I don't want his flak jacket.
I glance over at the young one.
He's more scared than before.
I just stare at him. He has forgotten his weapon.
"Die," I whisper intently. My will is poisonous, when I am mad, and now, with Yaksha's blood in my
veins, the poison is worse than the venom of a cobra. The young man falls to the floor.
His breathing stops.
Joel looks as if he will be sick.
"Kill me," he swears. "I cannot stand this."
"I am what I am." I break his chains. "You will become what I am."
He is bitter. He has no illusions. "Never."
I nod. "I said the same thing to Yaksha." I soften, touch his arm. "I cannot let them take you or me into
custody. We could have a thousand Eddies running around."
"They just want to talk to us," he says.
I shake my head as I glance at the men up front, unaware, so far, of what has happened to their
com-rades. "They know we are not normal," I whisper.
Joel pleads. "You can escape far more easily with-out me. Fewer people will have to die. Leave me
behind. Let them catch me in a shower of bullets. My blood will soak the pavement, nothing more."
"You are a brave man, Joel Drake."
He grimaces as he glances at what I have done to the others. "I have spent my life trying to help people.
Not destroy them."
I stare softly into his eyes. "I can't just let you die. You don't know what I have sacrificed to keep you
alive."
He pauses. "What did you sacrifice?"
I sigh. "The love of God." I turn toward the men at the front. "We will discuss this later."
Joel stops me one last time. "Don't kill when you don't have to."
"I will do what I can," I promise.
The bulletproof glass is two inches thick. Although the ceiling of the van forces me to crouch, I
am able to leap far enough off the floor to plant two swift kicks onto the barrier. I have exceptionally
strong legs. The glass shatters into thousands of little pellets. Before the two armed men can turn, I reach
forward and knock their heads together. They collapse in a man-gled heap. They are unconscious, not
dead. I remove the revolver from the hip holster of the driver and place the barrel to his head.
"The men in the back are dead," I whisper in his ear. "If you glance in your rearview mirror you will see it
is true. But I have allowed your partners up front to live. That is because I am a nice girl. I am nice and I
am nasty. If you tell me where we are headed, I will be nice to you. If you don't, if you try to alert your
partners on the road ahead of us or behind us, I will tear out your eyes and swallow them." I pause.
"Where are you taking us?"
He has trouble speaking. "C-Fourteen."
"Is that a police station?"
"No."
"What is it? Quickly!"
He coughs, frightened. "A high-security facility."
"Who runs it?"
He swallows. "The government."
"Are there labs there?"
"I don't know. I've only heard stories. I think so."
"Interesting." I tap his head lightly with his gun. "What's your name?"
"Lenny Treber." He throws me a nervous glance. Sweat pours off him in a river. "What's your name?"
"I have many names, Lenny. We are in a tight fix here. You and I and my friend. How do we get out of
it?"
He can't stop shaking. "I don't understand."
"I don't want to go to C-Fourteen. I want you to help me escape this dragnet. It is to your advantage to
help, and to the advantage of your fellow cops. I don't want to leave several dozen women widowed." I
pause. "Are you married, Lenny?"
He tries to calm himself with deep breaths. "Yes."
"Do you have children?"
"Yes."
"Youdon't want your children to grow up without a father, do you?"
"No."
"What can you do to help me and my friend?"
It is hard for him to concentrate. "I don't know."
"You will have to do better than that. What happens if you radio ahead and say you need to take a
bathroom break?"
"They won't believe it. They'll know you have escaped."
"Is this van bulletproof?"
"Yes."
"What did they tell you about me?"
"That you were dangerous."
"Anything else?" I ask.
He is near tears. "They said you can kill with your bare hands." He catches a clear view of the brain
tissue dripping out of the commander's skull. It is a gruesome sight, even by my flexible standards. A
shudder runs through Lenny's body. "Oh God," he gasps.
I pat him sweetly on the back. "I do have my bad side," I admit. "But you cannot judge me by a few
dead bodies. I don't want to kill you, Lenny, now that we're on a first-name basis. Think of another way
for us to escape the escorts."
He struggles. "There isn't one. This job has the highest security imaginable. They'll open fire if I try to get
away from them."
"Those were the orders?"
"Yes. Under no circumstances were you to be allowed to escape."
I ponder this. They must know me, even better than Lenny thinks. How's that possible? Have I left that
much evidence behind? I think of the Coliseum, the necks I broke, the javelins I threw. It's possible, I
suppose.
"I am going to escape," I tell Lenny, picking up the dropped machine gun and shotgun from the front
seats. I also yank a flak jacket off one of the men. "One way or the other."
"They'll open fire," Lenny protests.
"Let them." I take ammunition for both weapons from the unconscious men. I gesture to Joel, who is still
getting adjusted to his vampire senses. He's staring around the interior of the van as if he's stoned. "Put on
one of those flak jackets," I tell him.
"Does there have to be shooting?" he asks.
"There will be a lot of shooting." I speak to Lenny. "What's the top speed of this van?"
"Eighty miles an hour."
I groan. "I need a cop car."
"There are a lot of them behind and in front of us," Lenny says.
I peer at the chopper in the sky. "They hang close to the ground."
"They're heavily armed," Lenny says. "They won't let you escape."
I climb in the front seat beside him, shoving the men aside. The flak jacket is a little large on me. "You
think I should surrender?"
"Yes." He adds quickly, "That's just my opinion."
"You just follow my orders if you want to live," I say, studying the cruisers in front, in back. Sixteen
altogether—two officers in each, I know. Plus there are at least three unmarked cars—FBI agents. It
continues to amaze me how quickly they took Joel into custody. They hardly gave him a chance to
speak. I call back to him, "Come up here. We're going to switch vehicles in a few minutes."
Joel pokes his head close to my shoulder, flak jacket in place. "The chopper is a problem," he says. "It
doesn't matter how good a driver you are or how many cop cars you disable. It'll stay with us, lighting us
up."
"Maybe. Put on a seat belt." I brace a foot on the dashboard and point to an approaching alley. "There,
Lenny, I want you to take a hard left. Floor it as soon as you come out of the turn."
Lenny sweats. "OK."
I start to hand Joel Lenny's revolver. "Don't be afraid to cover my back." I pause and catch his eye.
"You are on my side, aren't you?"
Joel hesitates. "I won't kill anybody."
"Will you try to kill me?"
"No."
I give him the revolver. "All right." The alley closes. "Get ready, Lenny. No tricks. Just put as much
distance between us and the procession as you can."
Lenny veers to the left. The alley is narrow; the van shoots through it at high speed, knocking
over garbage cans and crates. The response from the cops is imme-diate. Half the cars jam into the alley
in pursuit. But half is better than all, and locked in behind us as they are, the cops can't fire at us so easily.
Unfortunately, the alley crosses several streets. For-tunately, it's midnight, with almost no traffic. At the
first street we're lucky. But we lose two police cars to a collision. At the second crossing we're also
fortunate. But as we drive into the third cross street we smash sideways into the only vehicle on the
street, an open produce truck loaded with oranges. The fruit spills over the van. Lenny has bumped his
head on the steering wheel and appears to be dazed. He gets another bump on his head when a squad
car smashes into us from behind. This is what I wanted—a pileup. "Come on!" I call to Joel. I jump out
of the side of the van and raise the machine gun and fire a spray of bullets at the cars piled up behind us.
They are pinned down, but I know it won't be long before a herd of fresh cars comes around the block.
The suddenness of my attack causes them to scramble from their vehicles. Overhead, the chopper
swoops dangerously low, the spotlight momentarily focused straight on me. I look through the glare of the
light and see a marksman stand in the open doorway and raise a high-powered rifle. Pump-ing the
shotgun, I take aim at him and pull the trigger.
The man loses the top of his head.
His lifeless body falls onto the roof of a nearby building.
I am not finished.
摘要：

TheLastVampire03 ChristopherPike   1 Iamavampire.Blooddoesnotbotherme.Ilikeblood.Evenseeingmyownblooddoesnotfrightenme.Butwhatmybloodcandotoothers—tothewholeworldforthatmatter—terrifiesme.OnceGodmademetakeavowtocreatenomorevampires.OnceIbelievedinGod.Butmybelief,likemyvow,hasbeenshatteredtoomanytime...

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