They Thirst Part 40

Silvera peered out over the city. The storm had stopped. Now from the darkness he seemed to hear the screaming and shrieking of vast mult.i.tudes of the Undead down in the city that had once been known as Los Angeles, as they danced and celebrated to the strains of a Luciferian symphony heard only by vampiric ears.

The shrieking went on and on, hideous and obscene, echoing through the hills like mad laughter. Silvera put his hands to his ears. "Listen to them sing!" Prince Vulkan shouted. "They sing for me!"

In the distance, over the ocean, lightning streaked through the night. Silvera grasped the edge of the parapet. He couldn't even feel the cold stone. When the next flash of lightning came, much closer, he could see the streets and buildings of the metropolis below him illuminated for a split second, like rows of stones in a graveyard. There was a faint rumble of thunder from the west.

Now, he told himself. Go now! He tensed to leap.

And suddenly the castle shook beneath his feet.

Thunder rumbled. In its wake there was no sound but the fading echoes of the vampires' shouting. Then total, utter silence. The world stood motionless. And then again, the rasping of stones rubbing together as the castle trembled. Silvera could feel the vibrations rippling up his uninjured leg, hammering into his body.

Prince Vulkan gripped the edge. "No!" he cried out. His eyes were wild, the pupils narrowed into slits.

Silence. Lightning flas.h.i.+ng in the distance, its flare illuminating the naked fear etched across the king vampire's face. He was watching the ebony sky, his head c.o.c.ked to one side as if he had heard a terrifying, long-dreaded voice. Thunder welled, rolling through the hills, and when the castle trembled again, a great black slab of stone broke away from an upper parapet and pitched downward, cras.h.i.+ng into the balcony just behind Father Silvera. The balcony shuddered, cracks, zigzagging in all directions.

Silvera could see earth and boulders sliding off the edge of the cliff just underneath the castle. Part of the wall sagged and disappeared in a tumble of stones. From somewhere there was a terrible splitting sound, a rending of the earth that seemed to Silvera like the noise of a thick telephone book being torn by muscular hands. He clung to the parapet as the balcony began to heave and buck beneath him. Mounds of earth pitched off the cliff, rolling down in an avalanche toward Hollywood. More of the wall vanished, and now the courtyard itself was beginning to slide away. The castle started leaning toward the precipice, ancient stones groaning in agony.

Earth cracked, opening huge fissures that snaked beneath the castle. In the next bright gleam of lightning, seemingly directly overhead, Silvera saw a stunning and terrible sight. The entire basin of Hollywood and L.A. was pitching, heaving like a Doomsday bellows. He saw buildings sagging, splitting apart, and falling one after the other, at first silently, but then the roar of destruction swept up into the hills like the shouting of an advancing army. A fissure had began to run the length of Sunset Boulevard, and in the intermittent flashes of lightning Silvera saw its advance, swift and relentless, sucking down entire blocks in its wake. He could hear screaming now, coming from the guts of the castle. When he looked down, he saw several vampires trying to run across the courtyard to the main gate vanish into a fissure than ran along at their feet just before overtaking them.

"Noooo!" Prince Vulkan wailed, his voice drowning out the next drum roll of thunder. His fingers dug into the parapet, his eyes glowing with green fire. His mouth worked with silent rage. From above came a loud grinding noise, and when he looked up, he saw a dunce-capped tower fall like a head being lopped off. The stones and slate struck the parapet, knocking great chunks out of it. Father Silvera threw himself back as a stone struck the parapet just in front of him, collapsing it. Prince Vulkan stood in a rain of slate, the pieces striking rrs back and shoulders. Silvera pressed himself against the wall for safety.

"NO!" Vulkan shouted into the night. "I WONT ... I WONT LET IT HAPPEN . . .!" A chunk of masonry struck him between the shoulder blades, driving him to his knees.

The tremors went on for another moment, then stopped abruptly. The castle seemed to be balanced at an angle, and blocks of stone kept falling from above, cras.h.i.+ng down into the courtyard or off the mountain's side. Between the peals of thunder Silvera heard the high shrieking of the vampire hordes down in the city, except now that shrieking was pained and terrified, lost and confused. And then another sound, one that came to him only faintly but with an impact that wrenched at him.

The sound of bells.

Church bells. Ringing in Beverly Hills, in Hollywood, in Los Angeles and East L.A., in Santa Monica and Culver City and Inglewood. Stirred by the tremor, they were singing to Father Silvera, and their song sounded like victory. He knew that Mary's Voice was singing loudest of all, and tears suddenly filled his eyes.

"You've lost!" he shouted to Prince Vulkan. "It's the earthquake! The Big One that's going to sink this city beneath the seal You've lost it all!" Vulkan whirled, his face mad with rage. "LIAR!" he shrieked. "Nothing can ... nothing can stop . . . nothing can . . ."

And the earth reared up, a chain of mountains rising abruptly across lower Hollywood, black peaks pus.h.i.+ng up through avenues and boulevards three hundred feet high, then dropping again into gaping holes that sucked the city down like whirlpools of brick and concrete. Buildings tumbled like huge chessmen across a shattering board. The castle pitched and s.h.i.+vered and started to fall to pieces.

Vulkan, his eyes wide circles of terror, screamed in a boy's cracking voice, "Headmaster, help meeeeee! Help meeeeeee!. . .!" His cry was lost in the din of thunder and falling stone.

Silvera fell to his knees on the sagging balcony. Between the thunder and the bells, he could hear the voice of G.o.d, and he understood the message. Whatever power that had protected these vampires was gone; the pendulum of power had swung back now, and it was time for the evil to die. The city was going to fall, yes, but it would fall by the will of G.o.d and for His purposes. Not for the vampires but upon them, a vampiric Sodom and Gomorrah. Vulkan stood at the shattered edge of the balcony, wailing in a language that Silvera couldn't understand. He lifted his hands in supplication and was struck down again by a chunk of stone. The L.A. basin dipped and heaved. Mountains split the earth, rising to tremendous heights-their crumbling sides stubbled with palm trees, broken sections of freeways, houses and buildings-and then sank rapidly down below sea level. Hideous screams, like those of the tormented in Dante's Inferno, echoed through the s.h.i.+fting hills, a hundred thousand screams rippling, mingling, intertwining. And above them the great clamor of the thunder and the bells.

The vampire king whirled to face Father Silvera, his face contorted with hatred.

"I haven't lost!" he shrieked. "Not yet! I can still win!" The balcony pitched beneath his feet, and he struggled for balance. And suddenly, he began to change, his body lengthening and darkening like a shadow. His face became vulpine, the fangs jutting from a mouth that was a bloodred slash in a dark, green-eyed horror. He lifted his arms to the sky, and Father Silvera saw them split the sleeves of his velvet coat. They became black, leathery wings that flailed at the air, reaching for height. The thing hissed at Silvera in triumph, turned, and threw itself from the balcony. Its wings moved powerfully, muscles rippling along the shoulders, and hovered for an instant in midair. Then with a last defiant glance backward, Prince Vulkan began to move away from the crumbling castle, the wings beating a hard, steady rhythm. And Silvera knew what must be done. The only choice, and what G.o.d had put him in this position to do.

He leapt across the balcony and threw himself into s.p.a.ce, his hands grasping for Prince Vulkan's ankles. Behind him, the balcony gave and dropped away. He got hold of Vulkan's right leg just below the knee, but his hands had no strength, and instantly he started to slip. Vulkan shrieked, more an animal's cry than anything else, and tried to kick the priest loose, but Silvera threw his arms around the ankle and held on with his last reserves of strength. A black-clawed hand raked across his skull once, then again, but now they were falling together in a slow spiral, and Vulkan stopped his attack to concentrate on gaining alt.i.tude.

For a moment they swept across the tops of dead pines, then Silvera was aware of cold air on his face, and they were climbing over the shattered city. Streets and buildings were being swallowed by the earth less than a hundred feet below them. Vulkan started to turn north. Silvera gritted his teeth and reached up, grasping the thing's waist. He fought to crawl up over the king vampire's body, straining to reach and pin down those powerful wings. A claw flashed out, taking away most of Silvera's cheek to the bone. He screamed in agony, but now he had both arms around Vulkan's waist, and he was trying to force his numbed hands up onto the shoulders. Vulkan twisted around to fight, almost flinging the priest off, and they plummeted more than forty feet before the wings started beating again.

Silvera was aware of a loud roaring below them now. When he looked to the west, he could see a two-hundred-foot wall of Pacific Ocean, white foam churning atop a gleaming black and green sea that looked as solid as fine Venetian marble, a monstrous tidal wave sweeping across the city, carrying with it yachts, cars, billboards, theater marquees, chunks of boardwalk, roofs, coffins, shattered sections of freeway, airplanes, palm trees, and entire buildings that reared up from the depths like the prows of gigantic sinking s.h.i.+ps. And now Father Silvera remembered what his mentor Father Raphael had told him about the holy water in Puerto Grande, where fresh well water had been as precious as life itself. "Use water from the cradle of life, Ramon. The salt heals and cleanses . . ."

Below him Los Angeles was being flooded. It was a cauldron of holy water blessed by G.o.d Himself, and tonight all the evil would be cleansed, every bit of it.

Silvera blinked the blood out of his eyes and hauled himself upward, grasping for the king vampire's wings. He caught and trapped one shoulder, throwing his other arm around Vulkan's neck.

They fell, spiraling in a long arc over West L.A. Prince Vulkan fought wildly, getting one winged arm free and struggling for alt.i.tude. Silvera hung onto his neck, wrenching downward to throw Vulkan out of control. But now they were rising again, very rapidly.

And then something huge loomed into their path-a wall of gla.s.s and steel that seemed to fill up the horizon. It was an office building, now starting to tremble and pitch forward as the tidal wave swept it from its foundations. Vulkan threw himself to the left, trying to veer over and away. Silvera saw that they were barely going to skim the roof as the building crashed down before them. Clasping his legs around the thing's waist, he let go of Vulkan's neck and grasped for his shoulders, pinning the leathery wings back in an effort that almost ripped his own arms from their sockets. He felt electric with power, filled with renewed strength. They tumbled forward, caught in a whirlwind, and Silvera shouted in Prince Vulkan's batlike ear, "You've lost, you've lost, you've . . .!"

They crashed through a plate-gla.s.s window. The building fell upon them like a ma.s.sive tombstone, shattering as the sea roared up into it and through its hundred cubicles. The pieces were swept under, boiled to the surface, swept under and over again, and finally vanished beneath the littered foam.

TWENTY.

The council chamber pitched at an angle, paintings falling from the walls to the floor, stones grinding and loosening, rafters cras.h.i.+ng around Palatazin and Tommy. A great jagged crack split the floor and started to widen between them and the bolted door.

From the ma.s.sive fireplace one of the scorched, burning figures slowly rose from the other and, roaring with hatred and bloodl.u.s.t, came shambling across the room with its hands outburst. Tommy could see the black eye sockets in Kobra's face, the flesh dangling from yellow bone, the lips and cheeks burned away to expose those hideous snapping fangs. From the smoking rags of his jacket, he wrenched the scorched Mauser and screamed, "WHERE ARE YOU!" The barrel swung toward Palatazin; Kobra's finger twitched on the trigger. And in the next instant the antique weapon, its magazine heated to an explosive level, blew up in Kobra's face, red-hot bullets glowing like tracers. Kobra's headless body was flung backward to the floor, where it lay writhing, the stub of a hand still gripping the mangled lump of iron. Palatazin gripped Tommy's arm and threw him across the widening chasm in the floor. Then he jumped, scrambling for a grip on the other side as the entire room heaved, great chunks of stone cracking loose from the walls and rolling like deadly pinwheels. The door was jammed shut, and Palatazin had to throw his shoulder against it to break it open. The corridor was filled with screams, falling rafters, and dust. Vampires came out of the darkness, b.u.mping into Palatazin and Tommy, then racing away in a panicked frenzy. The corridor bucked, rippling beneath their feet. "This way!" Tommy shouted to him. They ran toward the corridor's far end, where a pack of vampires fought to get down the stairway. Behind them the floor split and collapsed, sending a half-dozen of the Undead plunging through. Palatazin almost tripped over the female vampire in black who now crawled on the stairs, screaming "Master! Master help me!" A cloud of dust came welling up the stairway, almost blinding him. Vampires were fighting all around him in their frenzy to get out of the castle, some stumbling and falling over the struggling, gnas.h.i.+ng bodies of others. Palatazin reached back and grasped Tommy's arm, and together they fought their way through. In the lower corridor vampires ran back and forth, calling for their Master and wailing for help. Stones and rafters fell from above, cras.h.i.+ng to the floor and often crus.h.i.+ng one or more vampires underneath. The corridor was filled with dust, struggling shapes, screams, and moans. Three huge blocks fell with a tangle of rafters, blocking the corridor ahead of Palatazin and Tommy. They found the door leading downward, stepped through it, and bolted it. And now they knew they had to hurry because the castle was pitching and swaying above them, sending chunks of stone hurtling into the bas.e.m.e.nts. They pa.s.sed through the rooms where coffins lay with their beds of dirt and descended the stone stairs in almost total darkness, into the lower bas.e.m.e.nt where the dogs bayed and fought to escape, running back and forth like the vampires above, lost without a guiding hand. They retraced their way through the wine racks, twice coming to solid walls and having to go back and start over. "This way!" Tommy said, pulling at him.

"There's blood on the floor!" Palatazin looked down and saw smeared droplets of blood that might have been either his or Benefield's, but Benefield himself was gone. The shattered half of the man's staff lay a couple of feet away. They found the door, almost hidden in the darkness, and started up the long stairway to the outside.

The night was filled with screams. Fissures veined the courtyard, splitting even wider as the man and the boy ran for the iron-barred gate. Beyond Palatazin the black Lincoln Continental pitched into a crevice, metal crumpling like tinfoil as the earth ground it under. Vampires were running across the courtyard, their dazed eyes recognizing Tommy and Palatazin as humans, but their primary need now was for escape and safety. Some of them were walking, holding out their arms, and screaming for their Master. Palatazin saw several plunge through fissures and disappear. He hauled up the gate and locked the chain in place, then they went through, running along the cobblestone driveway. From the forest a sand-whitened figure ran toward them, arms waving like a scarecrow's. "Hey! Don't leave old Ratty up here, man! This f.u.c.kin' mountain's coming apart!"

Palatazin heard a hideous grinding and cracking sound, and when he looked back over his shoulder, he saw the castle's uppermost towers sway, then crumple in an explosion of stone. The earth under his feet heaved, throwing him off balance.

Half of the castle buckled and slowly began to give way, sliding over the cliffs edge like a huge melting candle. Cracks split the ground at his feet, and now he knew the enormity of this earthquake would destroy Los Angeles. There was no way they could escape on foot. Going back into the tunnels, which had been his first idea, would be suicide. He remembered the stalled vehicle farther down the road.

If it had enough gas, if it hadn't already gone over the side! But now they had no choice, for the mountain was shaking itself to pieces beneath them. They started down, Ratty's face stark white with terror beneath the grime. Tommy fell, almost sliding into a fissure that hissed open at his feet; Palatazin pulled him away and now half-carried, half-dragged him. From behind there was a growing thunderous rumble that made Ratty whirl around and shout "Jesus!"

Palatazin looked. The rest of the castle was going over, stones churning and boiling, rafters exploding into the air. It had vanished in less than three seconds, nothing left of it but a section of wall and the front gate. Above the noise of the castle's destruction, Palatazin could hear a hideous chorus of screams and shrieks-the dreadful, agonized song of the d.a.m.ned. Looking out over the black plain of L.A., he saw with frightening clarity the ripple of green phosph.o.r.escence atop a wave that must have been at least 300 feet high, rolling across the city from the west. He heard himself cry out, more of a moan than anything else, as he watched that wave sweep onward across avenue and boulevard and freeway. The towers of buildings jutted up like new reefs before they were either covered over or broken Behind the main wave were others coming in at angles across the backwash, breaking together in thunderclaps of water that shot foam another hundred feet into the air. The L.A. basin was filling up, zigzagged with froth and green wake. And still the earth shook. Even larger waves were churning in from the ruined Santa Monica breakwaters over ten miles away. Palatazin knew Westwood Village, i Venice, Century City, West L.A., and most of Beverly Hills would already be underwater. Under salt water, he realized, remembering the effect that had on the vampires. The vampires weren't drowning down there because they couldn't drown; they were being burned up. Palatazin shouted jubilantly to the sky. They were dying, most if not all of them trapped beneath fallen houses and buildings while the seawater roared in around them, searing them to the bone, blinding them, killing them.

In another moment they saw the jeeplike vehicle. They started running for it, and suddenly the world gave a great heave beneath Palatazin's feet that sent him spinning out into s.p.a.ce. He heard Tommy cry out and grab his arm, and then they were both falling, sliding down into the creva.s.se where the road had been.

Palatazin scrambled for a handhold on loose rocks and clumps of exposed roots. Suddenly there was someone above him, leaning over the precipice with an extended hand. Palatazin had just an instant to recognize who it was-his mother, her eyes dark and determined in a heavily creased, almost pellucid face. He reached up and caught her hand, feeling flesh against flesh, and then he was holding on to a gnarled root that looked like a closed fist. Tommy was gripping his other sleeve, both of them dangling over a black abyss. A rope came snaking down beside Palatazin. "Grab it!" he told Tommy. When 1 the boy had transferred his weight to the rope, there was the noise of an engine starting, and Tommy was pulled quickly to the top. In another moment the rope was dropped again, and Palatazin grasped it, then was hauled up the same way. At the top he saw that Ratty had tied it to the front fender of that jeep, then started the engine-thank G.o.d it would start, he breathed-and backed it away to pull them up. "Saw that in a cowboy movie once," Ratty said as Tommy climbed into the back and Palatazin took the pa.s.senger seat. "G.o.d bless old Hopalong Ca.s.sidy, man! Ain't been in one of these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds since Nam. Dig it!" He whooped and threw the thing into reverse, backing away from the deep pit. He was driving in the trench that the bulldozer had cleared out, moving faster in reverse than Palatazin could have driven in a forward gear.

"You all right?" Palatazin asked Tommy.

"Yeah," the boy said, but he looked pale and stunned, and he was shaking very badly. Tears suddenly filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, but his lips remained drawn in a grim, gray line. "Yeah," he said softly.

"Thought your a.s.ses were cooked," Ratty said. "You were in there a long time, man. Too f.u.c.king long! Then the bulldozer and the trucks came out, and Ratty dug himself a deeeep hole." The ground shook. Sand and boulders were falling onto the road, the larger rocks rolling on off the edge and vanis.h.i.+ng. Ratty, still driving in reverse, dodged the smaller ones as best he could with a skill that Palatazin thought might have shown how he'd gotten out of Viet Nam alive. He found a place to turn and spun the vehicle around violently, then headed down the mountain at breakneck speed. "We've got to get our a.s.ses out of here, man.

s.h.i.+t! Ain't much gas, but I don't think we're going to find a station that's open, do you? Christ Almighty!" He stomped on the brakes because water was churning over the road just ahead. The single yellow-glowing headlight picked out frothy waves littered with planks, roof tiles, a bright red lawn chair, and smoking shapes that looked like large snails after they'd been doused with salt.

Palatazin realized with a shudder that those were what remained of the vampires.

The jeep plowed through water that lapped up to the doors. A melted shape rubbed up against Palatazin's door, then was swept away in the tides behind the jeep.

The water climbed steadily toward the hood, but then they were out of the flooded area and ascending again. They pa.s.sed a green road sign that said Mulholland Drive-Vim.

"Where do we go from there?" Ratty asked.

"High ground. I think we should follow Mulholland west into the mountains and find a place to wait through the aftershocks up there." The earth trembled suddenly, and Ratty yelped. "s.h.i.+t! You feel that? This whole place is coming apart, man. Just splitting up into little pieces and going down like Atlantis!"

"What happens if we run into any more flooded areas? Can we get through?"

"I think so. This ain't just an ordinary jeep, man. I drove something like this in Nam, but I guess this is an improved version. It's an amphibious buggy, made for swamps, rice paddies, I guess even deserts. Sure don't know what it was doing up there, but if the gas holds out long enough, we'll be okay. Providing we don't get swallowed up in a hole or covered over with a big wave. I think the aftershocks are gonna be rough." He looked at Palatazin as if he suddenly realized the significance of what had happened. "The vampires," he said. "What's going to happen to them?"

"It's over for them," Palatazin said.

"Over. Yeah. The whole city is over, man. Kaput! There must've been a ... a whole lot of people trapped down there, too."

And now Palatazin admitted to himself what must be true and felt a sick, heavy sense of loss at the pit of his stomach. Jo was dead by now, and Gayle Clark as well. So were possibly thousands of other people who'd been trapped by the storm and the earthquake. It had all happened so fast; certainly there was no chance they could've escaped. The vampires had been destroyed, yes, but at a terrible cost. His old apartment building, his house on Romaine Street, the house where they'd taken refuge, must now be under at least seventy-five feet of water. The entire L.A. basin was gone, a new coastline scooped out. The aftershocks would probably send the water farther inland all through the night as more earth collapsed. He was speared with agony and put his hands to his face. First it had been his father and, in a way, his mother. Now the vampires had taken his wife as well.

He began to cry, emotions thras.h.i.+ng within him. The hot tears ran down his cheeks and softly dripped onto his s.h.i.+rt. Very soon he was racked with sobs. Ratty and Tommy averted their eyes. When they reached Mulholland Drive, right at the crest of the Santa Monica Mountains, Ratty turned to the northeast and sank his foot to the floorboard.

Friday, November 1

THE BASE.

When Gayle woke up screaming the second time, it was morning, and bright hot sunlight was streaming through the Venetian blinds into the barracks. Almost at once a tall, middle-aged man with close-cropped silvery hair and brown eyes that glowed warmly behind a pair of aviator gla.s.ses was standing beside her bunk. He wore sharply pressed dark blue trousers with scarlet and gold stripes down the sides and a light brown s.h.i.+rt with a crucifix pinned to each lapel.

Gayle looked up at him fearfully, her mind still filled with shrouded shapes that writhed and contorted like hideous worms.

"You're going to be fine now, miss," the man said quietly. "There's nothing to be afraid of anymore."

"Nightmare," she said. "I was . . . dreaming . . . about them . . ." The man's face seemed to pale slightly, his gaze sharpening. "I'm Chaplain Lott, miss . . ." He waited for her to reply, carefully studying her face.

"Gayle Clarke. I saw you last night, didn't I? At the airstrip?" Her gaze rested on the crucifix on his left lapel. She was comforted by its presence, safe from danger, safe from the night and the things that lurked within it.

"Yes, probably." He glanced around. Most of the bunks were occupied or had suitcases and clothes thrown across them. It was one of the largest barracks on the Twenty-nine Palms Marine Corps Base in the Mojave Desert, about 150 miles from the submerged ruin of L.A. The barracks and most of the base's buildings were filled with people of all ages and descriptions. There was very little talking, and no laughter at all. Those who had spent the night here or had been airlifted out of the Marine rescue centers at Palmdale and Adelanto had brought their own horror stories with them, and no one could take more than their share.

The night had been filled with crying and sudden screams. The tales that Chaplain Lott had heard babbled from feverish lips had been enough to gray his hair and stoop him over as if shouldering a terrible, unholy burden. When the first groups had started coming in-just an hour or so after the beginning of the series of earthquakes that had pushed Los Angeles beneath the sea and left Santa Ana, Riverside, Redlands, and Pasadena as ghost towns on the edge of the Pacific-Lott had rationalized those tales as ma.s.s hysteria. But then as the cargo and troop planes came in, bringing hundreds of survivors every hour, he had seen in those shocked and haunted faces a truth that shook him to the center of his soul. These were not simply people who believed in raw head and b.l.o.o.d.y bones tales, these were people who had lived through them. The other base chaplains and Father Allison were hearing the same things. Then there were the Marines who looked as close to madness as a man can be without going over the edge. They wanted to talk to Lott, wanted to touch the crucifix, wanted to be prayed for. They'd seen things, they said, and then they'd told him what those things were.

The base had been closed off to the reporters, who flocked at the gates trying to wheedle, bribe, or threaten their way in. Someone said the governor had been there last night before boarding a jet bound for Was.h.i.+ngton, but Lott hadn't seen him. Now there were rumors that the Vice-president was due very soon.

Lott sat down on the empty cot to Gayle's left, where Jo had slept uneasily and for only a few minutes at a time. Jo had calmed Gayle when she'd screamed herself awake the first time, around five in the morning, but now Jo was gone, and Gayle didn't know where she could be. The barracks smelled of fear, like sweat and scorched flesh. She noticed that most of the blinds had been pulled up to let in the golden desert sunlight. The light had never seemed as important or as beautiful as it did at this moment.

"Who were you brought in with?" Lott asked Gayle. "A relative?"

"No. A friend."

"I see. Is there anything I can do for you?"

She smiled grimly. "I'm sure there are others who need you more."

"That's nice," Lott said.

"What's nice?"

"You smiled. Not a very big smile, nor even a good one. But a smile all the same. That's about the first smile I've seen since all this began."

"So what do I get, a medal?"

He laughed. It felt fine and seemed to push back some of the shadows that had gathered within him. "Good, that's good. At least you're not catatonic like some of them are." He opened his breast pocket and brought out a pack of Winstons.

When he offered it, Gayle took a cigarette, almost biting through the filter, and leaned toward the lighter flame Lott offered. He lit one for himself and then put the pack down on the cot beside her. "Here you are," he said. "In lieu of a medal."

"Thanks." Gayle slipped her shoes on and laced them up. "How many have come in so far?"

"Cla.s.sified information," Lott said.

"You don't know?"

"They won't tell me. But all the extra barracks are filled up, there are people jammed into the gym like sardines, and I understand there are just as many at Fort Irwin and Edwards Air Force Base. The planes are still landing, two or three every hour, and the Seabees are putting up a hundred or so prefab Quonset huts. Offhand, I'd guess there are upwards of fifty thousand here."

"The quake's over?"

"For now, yes. I understand all the coastal areas are being evacuated. San Diego was. .h.i.t pretty hard, and I imagine the topography of San Francisco has been altered a bit, but the quake seemed to be centered right in L.A. It wasn't as devastating as the experts had been predicting for years, thank G.o.d, but it turned Los Angeles into a hundred-foot-deep tidal pool." His eyes darkned, and he regarded the ash of his cigarette. "It could've been worse. Things always can be worse."

Gayle looked around at the other people crammed into the barracks. Babies 393 were crying, their mothers and fathers trying to console them or each other. There were sleeping bags on the floor with exhausted people still curled up in them. A few cots down from Gayle a pretty Chicano girl with amber eyes had wrapped her arms around herself and was staring off into s.p.a.ce, her face totally blanked with shock; beyond her a little boy was playing on the floor with a plastic dump truck, occasionally stopping to look up at his mother, who stood staring out a window with red, swollen eyes.

"The rness hall's open," Lott said. "You can get some breakfast there if you like."

"What's going to happen now? Can I get a ride out of here!"

"No. The base has been closed off indefinitely. And a good thing, too. The reporters are snarling around outside. You wouldn't want to have to answer any questions now, would you?"

She grunted. "I was ... I am a reporter myself."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you understand then."

"Who ordered the base closed?"

"Cla.s.sified," Lott said, and smiled faintly. "But I imagine everyone will have to stay here until some kind of official investigation or statement or... whatever... is released. Which could be a long while."

"So n.o.body out there knows about the vampires yet, do they?" Lott drew deeply on his cigarette and started looking around for something to put the ashes in. He found a paper cup beside another empty cot, then glanced back at Gayle. "No," he said quietly. "They don't. I've been briefed on my official stance. The United States Marine Corps does not believe in vampires, nor do we wish to verify any of the rumors that will be created out of ma.s.s hysteria. Those are the key words, Miss Clarke. Ma.s.s hysteria."

"Bulls.h.i.+t," Gayle said, and rose to her feet. "It's that kind of att.i.tude, that disbelief, that made them so strong! We laughed at the legends, we called them old wives' tales that came about because of some childish fear of the things in the night, but they were there all the time, just waiting to strike. We helped them because we refused to believe in what we couldn't see. Well, I'll tell you-I've seen enough in these past few days to last a lifetime, and from now on I'll be real careful in deciding what not to believe-"

"Just a minute," Lott said. "I've told you my official stance. Unofficially, I ... have to wonder."

"There are more of them out there, hiding in other cities. People have to know.

They have to learn to believe and to fight before what happened in L.A. happens all over again."

Lott looked at her for a moment, his jaw working. "And you want to teach them, is that it?"