"At least carry the stupid thing. Wave it around—just not toward me."
He took it reluctantly. As we passed through an area that looked like a barracks, he snatched a pistol from a peg on the wall and dropped the rifle. I looked more closely at the pistol and realized it looked a lot like the dart gun Franco's man had had nailed me with earlier. A cartridge held extra darts and slid into the handle.
"I won't be afraid to shoot people with this," the doctor said, pushing up his glasses and doing his best to imitate the nerdy version of Rambo.
Ceiling fans hummed on the rafters overhead and air conditioners set into windowsills blasted away with all they had. Even so, the snap, crackle, and pop of gunshots rose above the clatter. We emerged from the barracks and into the humid night air. About a hundred yards away stood a three-story mansion protected by a towering wall. Palm trees jutted above the adobe walls. Towering behind them stood the third story of the palatial abode. The lights were off inside but occasional muzzle flashes lit the interior.
Bullets pinged off the side of the barracks as we stood gawking like a couple of idiots. The doctor shrieked and hit the dirt. I ducked behind the low concrete wall next to the barracks and risked a peek for an escape route, preferably bullet free. Tall lampposts lined the perimeter of the house. Scattered street lamps around the rutted dirt roads managed to keep the place lit enough my night vision didn't kick in.
My sensitive hearing caught the sound of boots on gravel. I stayed low as a group of men in jungle camo ran past us toward the mansion, their automatic rifles swinging in white-knuckled grips.
"Are you like Franco and Marcel?" the doctor asked in a low voice. Sweat funneled down the worry lines in his face.
I cast him a confused glance. "What do you mean?"
"Those two are insanely strong. A rival gang member shot Franco in the leg not long after they kidnapped me. He didn't even ask for my help. The bullet hole healed up within minutes."
"I'm nothing like them," I said. "They're vampires."
His brow crumpled. "Surely you must be joking."
I shook my head. "Afraid not. But don't worry, I'm not a vampire. I'm demon spawn."
He gulped. "That sounds immeasurably worse."
"I'd like to think I'm kind of a nice guy." I glanced down the muddy road ahead. "We need to head for the jet now. You still coming?"
He looked back as the muzzle flare of rifles lit the night. Back to me. A resigned look wrinkled his face. He nodded.
I paused to make sure there were no more gunmen coming and was just about to lead him across a wide-open gap between our flimsy wall and a concrete barrier when a tall figure streaked at inhuman speed out of the back gate in the adobe wall. I knew who it was by the long black ponytail—Marcel. He appeared to be heading the same way we were, toward the airstrip. I did not want to fight him or his boss Franco for a seat on the jet. Thankfully, he was looking back over his shoulder at the mansion. I blurred into his path and clotheslined him with an elbow right to the old noggin. His body left the ground and went parallel to it. I grabbed him by his neck in mid-air and slammed him viciously to the gravel, sending out a shockwave of dust. A satisfying punch to the face insured he was out cold. The doctor peeked from his hiding spot and shot a dart. It whizzed past my leg and lodged in the vampire's thigh.
"Whoa, watch it!" I said.
The doctor poked his head back out. "Sorry."
I glanced down at the unconscious vampire. "If Marcel is here, Franco must be nearby."
"Indeed he is," said Franco from somewhere behind me a split second before a gunshot exploded. I dove left on pure reflex. Rolled to my feet and blurred to the right. Franco spun with vampiric speed, following my every move, and fired the gun again. Even if I had a good chance surviving a bullet wound, simply knowing someone was shooting at me incited an almost blind panic. I dove at the vampire. Searing heat ran down my right arm as the bullet whizzed by. I slammed into his midsection. He hit the ground and slid on his back through gravel and mud while I rode him like a vampiric boogey board until he ground to a halt.
Just as I cocked my fist back to punch him, a dart sprouted in his neck followed by another. I jerked back as one whizzed by my nose.
"Sorry!" said the doctor as he aimed with trembling hands.
"Give him another to be safe," I said.
The doctor pumped two more into him. I glanced back at Marcel and noticed three more darts sticking out of his chest. Franco growled and grasped for my throat, but the tranquilizer kicked in and his beady red eyes rolled up into the back of his head.
"This is exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time," the doctor said. He pressed a pair of fingers to his own neck. "I do believe a myocardial infarction on my part is rather imminent."
I turned toward the road leading to the airfield and motioned him on, but my conscience unfolded from the fetal position, crawled out from its safe place, and tapped me on the shoulder. I knew not all vampires were pure evil just like not all demon spawn were the Devil's cabana boys. But these two vampires were obviously rotten to the core, running a drug farm and a slave operation. My survival instinct unabashedly tugged me toward the airstrip, though my chest constricted with shame for leaving Franco's victims to rot. While the rest of the cartel was fighting a war, I might be able to save some people.
You have to save Elyssa! You don't have time to run around saving the world.
But I knew guilt would follow me forever if I abandoned innocents to these monsters. I groaned and gave myself a hearty face-palm. "Where do they keep the slaves?" I asked the doctor.
His already trembling hands shook even more violently. "Are you bloody insane?" He looked at Franco's unconscious form. The vampire's fangs protruded from beneath his lips and I could practically see the doctor's mind make the transition from disbelief to absolute horror. "My god, it's true, isn't it?" He stumbled backward and fell on his butt. "Those people weren't just slaves. And their babies—oh dear lord, the babies." He blanched and stared blankly into the distance.
"They did something to babies?"
His voice rose to a hoarse whisper. "They vanished."
I gagged as the reality of what he was saying hit home. "My god. They were using those people as food."
He nodded. "I had to check the health of the incoming workers and people they kidnapped. They brought in women, some of them pregnant. Sometimes they'd bring in a tourist, but they always ransomed those types."
I couldn't stand around any longer, especially with a gun battle raging not far away. "Point me toward the place they keep the slaves. I'll meet you at the plane."
"I can help."
I almost refused him. But his knowledge of the layout might help me direct those poor souls out of this wretched place. He gripped the dart gun in a trembling hand. His shaky trigger finger fired a dart into the dirt, narrowly missing his foot. His shoulders slumped as he regarded his shaking limbs.
"I'm a sodding mess." He offered me the gun. "With your speed, you could hit anyone before I even saw them."
I pulled the belt off one of the unconscious vampires along with the pistol holster and put it on so I could secure the gun. If I tried to tuck it into my pants, I'd probably end up tranquilizing my ass. I motioned for the doctor to proceed. "Let's do this."
We ran behind a tin shed. Scanned for bad guys. Ran to a copse of trees. Looked again. Five minutes later, we arrived at the doors to an underground cellar. The steel doors were locked and inset into the ground against a concrete frame, but I ripped one off the hinges with a few hard jerks. I'd expected a filthy root cellar filled with grubby starved people and rats—lots of rats. Instead, I found a set of bleached concrete stairs leading into a polished, marble-tiled hallway. A large communal bathroom with showers and stainless steel toilets without partitions filled the first room. Doors lined the rest, like a dormitory.
"The other end leads into the mansion," the doctor said.
"Wow, this place looks nice."
"Looks can be deceiving."
I knew that all too well. I bashed the first locked door open with my shoulder, glad that it was wood instead of metal. A woman on the other side screeched and hid behind the bed. A television hummed in the background. She assaulted us with a stream of Spanish. The doctor replied in kind and after a moment she calmed down. When she neared us, I realized that her eyes flickered between normal brown and vampiric red. I also noticed the hump in her midsection and my stomach clenched.
"Ask her if she's pregnant."
He did and she replied affirmatively.
"She's turning into a vampire," I told him. "I think Franco is trying to make baby dhampyrs."
The doctor's face blanched and he backed away from the woman, terror in his eyes. "She's a bloody vampire?"
I grabbed his arm. "It's not like the movies," I said. "She's not going to freak out and attack you."
"How do you know?"
"Because not all vampires are pure evil like the jackass who runs this place." I noticed an empty blood pack on the dresser nearby. "Plus, she just ate."
He turned a shade of green I'd never seen before and ran out retching.
Even if the woman wasn't going to attack anyone, I didn't know what to do about her. Someone else would have to break out the vampire handbook and give her the lowdown, because I wasn't exactly a fountain of knowledge. It was really too bad Shelton's place wasn't nearby because I'd gladly dump these newly fanged females on his doorstep. I could imagine the panic on his face if I turned his hideout into a halfway home for pregnant vampires.
The doctor and I went through the rest of the rooms, freeing what turned out to be nearly a dozen women. Some were pregnant. Others cried about having their babies taken from them after birth. At least a couple others showed signs of vampiric turning.
"Did you deliver their infants?" I asked the doctor, clenching my fists and trying to decide just how innocent he was in the wretched scheme of things. My lack of Spanish prevented me from questioning the women, but at least none of them had attacked the doctor on sight which would have been a clear indication to me his hands were filthy with this dirty business.