Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (25 page)

“No way am I staying here,” Lance declared. He grabbed his duffel bag and started toward the motel room door.

The team had arrived only a half hour before and rented a room, so they could gather their thoughts and make ready their plan. The compound was one hour away. Their arsenal of semiautomatics, rifles, and shotguns was collected on the two beds. Each man had knives, stakes, and holsters strapped to their torsos and calves. They looked like a renegade militia prepared to fight every inch to reach their leader.

It had not been a joyful reunion. Samuel, Father Anthony, along with Joe, David, Dwight, and Harry had arrived early, having taken shifts driving through the day and half the night. The faces of three team members—Randy, Pete, and Lance—had been stricken.

“You can’t just walk out.” Joe stood, tossing the pillow he’d folded beneath his head to the bed.

“The hell I can’t.” Lance’s tone was defiant, filled with anger and resentment, as if he had been betrayed somehow. Meanwhile, the whole team stared at him, their eyes filled with rage because he had become their own personal Judas Iscariot. “I didn’t bargain for this.”

“What did you think would happen?” Chris leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, papers and notes spread behind him. He chewed gum slowly, making it pop. “Did you think this was some fairy tale? Some mythical journey? Or did you think because we were on the right side that no one would get hurt?”

“I don’t know!” Lance’s voice exploded in the room. Fear and anguish were etched on his face. “I wanted to help.” He lifted a hand but dropped it to his side. “I wanted to do something worthy. But I don’t want to die.”

“No one does,” Joe said. “But walking out sure ain’t worthy of nothing.”

“But…th-this”—Lance gesticulated in a helpless way—“what happened to Pete—” His mouth twisted. “You’re all fools for staying here. You can’t win.”

His pronouncement resonated through the room and bounced off the determined faces of the team. Samuel’s hands clenched in denial. They had to win. There was no other choice. Admitting defeat, playing it safe, was not an option. He’d seen the pictures on Shawn’s cell phone—pictures that made this battle very real. Very ugly. And solidified Samuel’s purpose.

These men had risked their lives to save him. And now they were doing so for Roc. Samuel wasn’t going to run away from fear or death. Regret would chase after him and haunt him forever. No, he would stay. He would fight. Because there wasn’t another option. Not now. Not when the image burned in his mind. Even if he was the only one fighting and willing to die.

Pete
. The one who had always helped others, enjoyed the ladies when he had the chance, and been quick to find humor in a situation.

He was dead. Not just dead but horrifically mutilated when they found him. Then again, at least he was dead. It could have been worse, much worse.

Samuel couldn’t let that happen to Roc or anyone else, not if there was something he could do.

He thought of Rachel, her blue eyes anxious, her mouth pinched tight. And her beautiful baby boy. David needed a father. Samuel wouldn’t let them down. Another image, another set of calm eyes, sprang into his mind, and he forcefully blocked out Naomi. She was safe. In Pennsylvania. Far away from this danger. That’s all that mattered.

“Look,” Chris said to Lance in a reasonable tone, “I know you’re upset. We all are. Pete was our brother. But running out now…is that how you want to honor Pete’s memory? Wouldn’t you rather seek a little revenge on those bastards?”

The team nodded in agreement, their bodies as tense as Samuel’s, ready for action, ready to draw blood and account for the sins perpetrated on their team member.

Pete had gone on surveillance, scoping out the compound where they believed—and now knew—Roc had been taken. Shawn had gone with him. They’d circled the compound, taking opposite directions, and planned to meet up again. But something went wrong. Very wrong. They’d kept in contact via their phones. Shawn heard, “Hey!” Then a scream. Static came from Pete’s phone, which he later found smashed. Shawn took off running, passed the rendezvous point, and kept going, calling for immediate backup from Lance and Randy. But they’d all been too late. They’d only found pieces of Pete. And blood. Lots of blood.

“No,” Lance finally mouthed the answer to Chris’s question. “I don’t wanna die.”

“You think we do?” Harry asked. “Come on, man, we have work to do. We have to help Roc.”

But Lance shook his head and opened the motel room’s door.

“No!” Joe threw himself at Lance, and their bodies collided with the door, shutting it firmly.

“Whoa!” Samuel surged to his feet.

Chris, Shawn, and Randy leapt forward and dragged Joe off Lance.

Joe struggled, his veins bulging in his neck and arms. “We can’t just let him walk out! This is a brotherhood.”

“What are we going to do?” Shawn asked, holding on to Joe’s thick shoulder. “Kill him?”

Chris planted his hands against Joe’s chest. “If he wants to go, let him. No use having a coward with us.”

“He swore to be a part of this team. What if he goes out there and tells someone what we’re doing?”

Randy and Chris shared skeptical glances. “That’s a point. Maybe we should…I don’t know…” Randy turned toward Lance now as if to tackle him but only grabbed his arm. “We could tie him up at least until this raid is over. Roc will know what to do.”

Lance attempted to shake off Randy’s grip. “Roc could be dead!”

“No!” Samuel wouldn’t believe that. He rushed past Father Anthony, slamming his shin against the bed frame, but he threw himself into the midst of the three arguing men. “Let Lance go. Who is he going to tell? Anyone would think he’s crazy.”

“But what if
they
catch him?” Randy looked panicked, his eyes wide and bulging.

Dwight glared at Lance, as if he had become the enemy. His grizzled beard made him look formidable. “What if they learn our secrets?”

“You think they got secrets from Pete?” Samuel challenged. From the corner of his eye, he saw Father Anthony nodding in agreement, which encouraged him to continue. “If they catch Lance, he’ll face what we all may—death.” He drew a breath. “Besides, if they have Roc, then they could already know our plans and strategies.”

“I doubt it,” Father Anthony said with that calm voice, but his authority ricocheted through the room. “They are too arrogant, too trusting of their own abilities to worry about us. We’re like gnats to them. We may be a nuisance but they believe they are stronger and smarter.”

“They are stronger!” Lance glared at his once teammates, who now looked as if they might lynch him. Then he bolted out the door, leaving it wide open.

Thick, humid air poured into the room. An uneasy silence settled upon them. Joe moved first.

“Let him go,” Father Anthony warned.

But Joe only closed the door.

Slowly, Father Anthony pushed to his feet, looking as if he’d aged twenty years in the last few minutes. His cheeks were sunken, his shoulders slumped wearily, but there was still fire in his eyes. He wove through the men, brushing shoulders with them, and he walked to the door before facing the team.

“Lance made his choice. And each of you must choose, weighing what you believe you have to lose. Some of you have already lost loved ones. I’ve heard a few of your stories over the last few hours and what brought you to train with Roc and Father Roberto. Each of our stories is unique, as are each of our callings.

“Lance was right. This is not an easy task. They are stronger. Probably smarter too. A few of us may die—maybe even all of us in the coming battle. I cannot tell you what to do. Only God can do that. And then it’s up to you whether you are willing to obey the calling on your life or not. It is your choice.

“You will not answer to me but to the Almighty. We need every man here, but we only want those committed to our cause. Today, we free Roc. But we are also striking into the heart of the enemy. Will there be any of us left to continue the fight tomorrow? I do not know. But I do know the Lord raises up His own army.
And
the
Lord
shall
utter
his
voice
before
his
army: for his camp is very great: for he is strong that executeth his word: for the day of the Lord is great and very terrible; and who can abide it?
”

His words resonated in the room, pulsing with the beat of Samuel’s heart.

“So”—Father Anthony flung open the motel room door—“if you want to stay and fight, then do so. If you believe you should leave, then now is the time.”

Silence had its own beat, its own score. It played differently for each man. Samuel met every gaze—Joe, Chris, Randy, Dwight, Harry, and Shawn. They were soldiers. Every one of them.

“We will not think ill of you if you leave,” Father Anthony said. “It is your choice. Just as it is our choice to stay.”

Again, Samuel thought of Naomi, and a voice whispered in his head, “Samuel, you can go. This is not required of you.”

But his spine straightened. He would not leave. And apparently neither would anyone else. After a long moment, Father Anthony closed the door and sealed their fate.

The explosion was fairly small compared to those Samuel had seen in movies, where cars flipped, buildings imploded, planes broke apart. This blast simply garnered attention and created a diversion.

Vampires poured out of the buildings toward the enflamed Dumpster like a horde of angry hornets.

A couple of fire extinguishers, Samuel reasoned, could take care of it without any need for a fire truck. Though, with the windows open in the van, he could already smell acrid smoke. The remaining fire leapt out of the Dumpster’s opening and sent up a plume of black smoke.

But it got the vamps moving in the right direction—away from the team—and it didn’t jeopardize Roc. Or so they hoped.

The plan, devised by Joe and Father Anthony, was a four-pronged attack. Dwight had lobbed the homemade bomb over the fence and into the Dumpster, setting off the initial explosion, then he’d hooked eastward to meet up with Chris and Harry, who were breaking into the compound from the east. Rotating clockwise along the backside of the compound, Randy and Shawn, having previously clipped the wire mesh, plowed a van through the west fence. Down the only road leading toward the compound, Samuel drove the other van toward the main gates, making a grand entrance with Father Anthony sitting beside him in the passenger seat and Joe in the rear.

Even though the team members carried knives, stakes, and .357 magnums with hollow-point bullets, to create the most damage and heaviest blood loss, Father Anthony only wore a heavy gold cross on his chest and carried a Bible. It was up to Samuel and Joe to protect the priest.

As they drove through the entrance, a young man raced out of a guardhouse and bolted in front of the van. Samuel slowed the vehicle, gripping the wheel hard. Through the windshield, a black angry gaze met him. A vampire. Samuel’s heart jolted. Sweat burst onto his forehead.

“Easy,” Joe said from the back. “Just keep driving, nice and slow.”

Father Anthony began chanting what he had explained earlier was scripture in Latin. “
Vade
retro, Satana!
”

The vampire came around the front of the van toward the driver’s window, but his footsteps slowed, then faltered as Father Anthony’s voice reached him. The vampire pressed his palms to his ears as his face contorted with rage. Hissing and growling, he yanked the side mirror off the van and clawed a hand through the open window. Samuel ducked sideways and stomped on the gas. The van lurched forward. Joe raised his gun. But he never fired a shot. The vampire did not advance but spewed vile words and then fled. Joe exchanged an amazed look with Samuel through the rearview mirror.

“Go! Go! Go!” Joe shouted, moving forward and leaning between the front seats.

Samuel took a sharp turn, and the tires squealed. Up ahead, a pack of vampires spotted them.

“Turn right!” Joe ordered.

Samuel floored it, but before he could reach the next turn, two vampires appeared in front of the van. Stomping the break, Samuel braced himself against the steering wheel as they slammed into them. The hood crumpled, the protective air bag burst out of the steering wheel, and the van came to an abrupt stop. The vampires, standing tall, unharmed, and dangerous, glared through the cracked windshield.

Calmly, Father Anthony raised the cross and continued his chanting of the Holy Scriptures. One of the vampires shrank and disappeared.

“Where’d he go?” Samuel asked.

The other vampire launched himself at the van. But a sound exploded next to Samuel. When the concussion of the semiautomatic weapon died, Samuel could only hear muffled sounds. A hole opened in the vampire’s chest, and he fell across the hood.

“Get out!” Joe jerked open the van’s side door and helped Father Anthony out. “This side!”

The wounded vampire clambered toward them, and Joe shot him twice more.

“This way!” Joe pulled Father Anthony out of the van and waved for Samuel to follow. “Do not separate.”

More vampires approached from behind them. Joe and Samuel bracketed Father Anthony, both aiming their .357s. Father Anthony continued his chanting, and the approaching vampires snarled and snapped but didn’t approach any further. The priest looked as if he was in a trance, his eyes blank, his voice hoarse.

Joe backed all three of them toward the fallen vampire, who lay in a pool of dark blood, but he wasn’t yet dead. He struggled, but his movements were jerky and ineffective. Joe looped a band around his neck and tied him to the bumper. The vampire grabbed at them, clawing at their ankles, but they kept out of reach.

“If he bites you,” Joe explained, “he’ll gain strength.” He pulled a blade from its sheath strapped to his back and sliced the vamp’s wrists and neck. Blood spurted and poured forth. He glared down at the writhing beast. “Where’s Roc Girouard?”

The vampire growled through clenched, bloodied teeth.

“I can make this slow or quick.” He flashed the blade in the vamp’s face.

But the vampire curled inward and attempted to cover his ears. “Make him stop.” He acted like Father’s Anthony’s intonations were more painful to him than the chest wound. “Please…stop.”

“If you’ll tell us where Roc Girouard is being held prisoner, he’ll stop.”

“Who?” The vampire twisted as if trying to escape. “You will die this day, Anthony Daly!”

Father Anthony showed no surprise that the vampire knew his name. “I know where I’m going. Do you?
Nunquam
suade
mihi
vana. Sunt mala quae libas, ipse vinena bibas
.”

They were now surrounded, yet no vamp would come close once the priest began chanting scripture again. An invisible line held them at bay. A pint-sized vampire, who looked to be nine or ten, snapped and struggled against invisible restraints. She caught Samuel’s attention. She had long yellow hair and smooth skin. One of her knee socks hugged her ankle. Those black eyes snared Samuel, and everything around him faded and fogged.

Help
me!
the child’s voice echoed in Samuel’s head. The vampire didn’t call out to him, but she reached a hand toward him.
You
can
help
me. Please
.

“Roc Girouard. Where is he?” Joe demanded from the vampire lying at their feet. He shouted the scriptures with Father Anthony, yelling the words and aiming them at the vampire recoiling and moaning.

Yet it all seemed so far away from Samuel. He couldn’t take his gaze off the young child. Samuel felt his own hand reach outward.

“Tell me now!” Joe shouted, his voice sounding hoarse and muffled.

“Okay, okay. Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

“Not likely.
Vade
retro, Satana!
”

“I hate you, Joseph William McBride!” The vampire spewed vile names.

“
Vade
retro, Satana. Vade retro, Satana. Vade retro, Satana.
”

“Building four! Now let—”

The priest did not relent; his voice remained deep and powerful as he chanted.

Joe pushed. “Where’s building four?”

“Over there.”

Over
here!
came the voice in Samuel’s head.
Help
me, please. I’ll show you where your friend is. He’s hurt. He needs help. Come! Quickly!

“Samuel!” Joe snagged Samuel’s arm and yanked hard, jerking him around. “Look at me. Me! Right here.”

Samuel focused on Joe’s hawkish gaze, the brown of his eyes. Somehow the world righted itself.

“You okay?” Joe clapped Samuel on the shoulder.

Samuel shook himself, shucking off the effects of the vampire’s gaze. Something brushed his leg. The wounded vampire rolled sideways and strained to reach them. Joe stomped on the arm, and Samuel heard a bone snap.

“Come on!” Joe pushed Samuel toward a plain, ordinary building, which looked like all the others. “Let’s go.”

This time, Samuel didn’t look back, didn’t dare even a glance at the rest of the vampires—especially the young one.