Alex Van Helsing (10 page)

“It’s just a sprain.” Sangster was waving off the protestations of Mrs. Hostache, who was adjusting a pillow that a nurse had put behind Sangster’s head when they had led him into the emergency room. Sangster was in a curtained area of the ER in Secheron’s clinic. Alex and Sid had ridden along on the condition that they remain silent and not interfere.

The doctor had already bound up Sangster’s leg in a plastic-and-foam cast that prevented him from bending it. He would wear it, the doctor had said, for nearly a month. That would be weeks in a wheelchair or on crutches. Now they were just waiting for his wheels.

“Do you ever manage to go anywhere without
triggering some catastrophe?” asked Mrs. Hostache, staring at Alex. He could read what she was thinking—she was running through possibilities, angles: What would cause an enormous bookshelf to topple; whether such an occurrence could be caused by climbing or other roughhousing; or whether it intimated something definitely darker. Whether Alex had made it happen. Whether she trusted Alex or not. Especially given his record.

Alex cleared his throat. “If Mr. Sangster hadn’t jumped and pushed me when he did, I—those things are heavy, is all I’m saying.”

“How did this happen?” she finally asked, straining for a neutral tone.

He could tell the truth—he had seen the Merrills, and naturally they hated him and were inclined to try something nasty. But then had he seen them pushing, climbing, anything? Was it enough to stick? Finally he said, “I don’t know.”

“Were you climbing on the shelves?” Mrs. Hostache asked, pushing up her glasses.

I’m not
four, Alex wanted to say, but instead he just shook his head honestly. “No, absolutely not.”

“He wasn’t climbing,” said Sangster, rolling his eyes. “I thought I might have heard some kids roughhousing, but by the time I got there, the shelves were falling.”

“Here we are.” A nurse, a twenty-two-year-old ponytailed guy, arrived with a wheelchair for Sangster. “Your ride, m’sier.”

“I can take the crutches,” Sangster said, pointing to the ones by the bed.

“Hospital policy, m’sier, is to wheel you out. After that, eh, you can
run
as far as we are concerned.” The nurse laughed.

Sangster shrugged. “Alex, carry those crutches to the front entrance, would you?”

Alex carried the crutches and the entourage followed Sangster out. When they hit the front door, Sid got into the back of the van as Mrs. Hostache climbed in and started it up.

As Alex helped Sangster into the van, he spoke low. “What about the raid?”

“The official position is wait and see; the raid is my idea.” Sangster shook his head in disgust. “I’ll be healed up soon.”

The engine was running, and now Alex slowed to a crawl in helping Sangster out of the chair and onto the crutches. “How long will that take? The doctor said weeks.”

“It’s not ideal.” Sangster sighed. “But trust me; it won’t be that bad.”

“That’s
insane,
” Alex hissed.

“Shh,”
Sangster said. “Calm down.”

“Have you called in yet?”

“No,” said Sangster.

“So then is the Polidorium still thinking that you’re going tonight?”

“They’ve given me reluctant permission and there’s a go package waiting for me under the angel statue,” Sangster said. “So it gets stalled.”

Paul and Minhi may not have that kind of time,
Alex thought to himself.

At ten o’clock, Alex rose and found Sid staring at him from his bunk. He was lying still on his side, watching silently. Alex remained wordless as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. It wasn’t until he sat on the chair at the writing desk that Sid spoke.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” Alex said, pulling on a pair of sneakers. “I forgot the—I left a—”

“Are you hunting them?”

Alex looked up. He had no idea how to answer, and he played out several versions in his head. Then he said truthfully: “I’m going to the Villa Diodati.”

“That would be a secret, wouldn’t it?” Sid asked.

Alex finished lacing his shoes. “Yeah.”

“Then I was asleep.” Sid turned over to face the wall.

Alex nodded, rising. “I need to borrow your bike again.”

“Just get them
back
.”

Alex rode Sid’s bike a quarter mile down the road before ditching it behind a small group of pine trees, where he and Sangster had hidden the Kawasaki Ninja in the early hours of the morning on the way back from the shore. He pulled several branches and a tarp off the motorcycle. It took him another twenty minutes to reach the vineyards of the Villa Diodati.

Static throbbed and hissed in the back of Alex’s head as he crept along the beach near the Villa Diodati. The angel statue cast its gaze on the water, its wings unfurled, its arms wide and beckoning. Alex bent down, sweeping sand aside next to the marble base. After a moment he felt his hands strike a plastic sack.

He ripped the sack out of the sand and tore it open to find what Sangster had called the go package, a black backpack bearing the Polidorium logo at the top. Alex lifted it quickly, looking around as if one of their agents might come to retrieve it at any moment. He opened the pack and found a heavy, leatherlike roll inside.
Like the one Sangster had before, when we were looking for
the entrance.
He set it on the ground, rolling it out.

Alex looked down at the gear. He saw a net containing several of the glass water balls, a Polibow with four twelve-bolt cartridges, assorted silver knives, and one of the specially carved, silver-lined stakes. The Polibow had a sling and he slipped it over his shoulder. There was also a sort of air gun with a grappling hook in the barrel.
Cool.
He decided to ignore the Beretta; he had trained with hunting rifles but knew enough about guns to not try using one he’d never been taught. The stake he shoved through a belt loop.

Alex found a Bluetooth headset fastened to the roll, retrieved it, and put it on. He thought back to his time at the farmhouse.

He tapped the button on the headset. He wondered who would answer and prepared several responses.

An answer came across: “Farmhouse.”

Alex said, “Farmhouse, I’m in the field, I need Sangster.”

Instantly the voice said, “Routing.”

Alex blinked, pleased with himself, and waited. There was a series of clicks and finally an answer as Sangster came on the line.

“This is Sangster.”

“Sangster, this is Van Helsing.”

There was a silence, and then he heard a distant crackle.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I have the go package,” Alex said. “I’m going in.” He clicked the device off.

Alex turned toward the water, feeling the corresponding rise of static in his mind. He threw a glass ball into the air, raised the Polibow, and took it down in one shot. The tinkling shards of glass on water opened up another world. Now he had to hurry.

Cold shot through Alex’s limbs as he waded into the lake. Near the lip of the tunnel, where the water was up to his chest, it got worse; the temperature plummeted. He could see his breath. His teeth started to chatter as he grabbed the edge of the entrance and swung his leg up, dragging himself onto the stone floor. The static was pounding. This was a place of evil.

Cut that out. Pay attention.

For a moment he remembered his first skiing instructor, on a mountain where Alex had gotten into a precarious spot and had started to complain about whether or not he could make it back down.

What are you doing right now? Are you solving your problem or is this just noise?

For now, the static was just noise. He forced his mind to push the static back and down.

Drenched to the bone, Alex stopped for a moment at the mouth of the tunnel. Inside, the air was still frigid, but at least he wasn’t swimming in it anymore. He crouched low, collecting himself. The tunnel itself was as wide as a driveway, and as he looked down, he saw that it sloped at about a 15-degree angle, leveling off out of sight, probably dropping again.
How many underground lairs can this part of Switzerland hold?
He turned over the pack, observing that the zipper worked as a seal, so that the pack was waterproof. Alex touched the tunnel wall. It was made of what seemed to be stone, lined with a matrix that stretched around and down as far as the eye could see. At intervals he saw reinforcing beams embedded with skulls.

He clicked the Bluetooth device on, and said, “You still there?”

“Alex,” came Sangster’s voice, cool and steady. “You need to turn around. Don’t go into that tunnel.”

“Too late,” said Alex. “You gonna help me or are we going to discuss this a little more?”

“You’re in danger already.”

“Yeah, so I need your help,” he said. Alex needed to
have some idea of what he was dealing with. “The walls are lined with a white—like a white net. What is this stuff?” The matrix glimmered in the light as Alex ran his hand along it.

Sangster responded, “That is probably a reinforcing mesh of bone.”

“Ugh,” Alex said, pulling his hand back.

“Not pure bone, though, there’s probably metal or something in it. It’s a polymer of some kind.”

“Vampires make polymers?”

“Vampires make work orders,” Sangster said. “Probably someone else would make the polymer.”

“I never knew they were that organized,” Alex said.
Of course, I never knew they existed.
There was a flicker behind him at the mouth of the tunnel, and he turned with surprise—only to see the opening closing up. Now a sheen of water lay across the top, and he could make out the distant moon shining, murky through the liquid.

Alex walked back to the entrance and struck the wall of water, wanting to know what he was dealing with. His hand bounced off painfully, smarting as if he had struck concrete. “Ow!”

“What?” Sangster hissed, far away.

“I smacked the entrance,” Alex said. “It’s closed. So
would this be technology or magic?”

“Both,” Sangster replied. Alex could hear the teacher deciding he had no choice but to guide him. “Okay. Alex, you need to
keep moving
. You can’t stay still very long. Stay away from the walls. I’m thinking they’re not sensitive or you’d probably be hearing alarms already, but you don’t want to take any chances.”

Alex snatched his hand away from the wall. “You could warn me about these things ahead of time.”

“You’re telling me,” the teacher said. “What about your…other sense?”

Alex blinked. “It’s vibrating and, you know, there.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Sangster. “You won’t be able to use your sense to warn you of a sneak attack because right now you’re surrounded by evil. It’s just going to constantly clang. We’ll find someone to help you with that.”

Alex wondered who they could find to help. “That someone wouldn’t be my own father, would it?”

“I think that’s up to you,” Sangster said.

As Alex crept, Sangster whispered advice to Alex,
Just stay low. Don’t go anywhere wide-open. If you see anyone coming after you, run. You’re there to find the hostages and information, not to engage the enemy.

After he had traveled about a half mile, the light had
grown so dim that Alex spoke again. “It’s getting hard to see.”

“Do you have the go package?”

“Yes.”

“Reach in and feel for the left pocket. You’ll find Velcroed to the side a pair of infrared glasses. Put them on.”

Alex found them. They were lightweight, barely bulkier than a welder’s mask, and when Alex had slipped them on, he found the button on the side and pressed.

Suddenly he could see again. He nearly screamed.

Sangster heard him gasp. Alex said, “I found someone.”

“A guard?”

“No.”

Two inches from Alex’s face was a
cage.
It hung right in front of him, a swinging birdcage about six feet tall, suspended from the ceiling. A leering, mummified skull lay at eye level with him on the floor of the cage, crumpled with the bones. The skeleton wore green and tattered clothing.

“Easy,” Sangster whispered.

“What the…?” Alex slowly edged around the cage, moving to the center of the drive. He took in the crumpled form—it wore,
he
wore heavy boots, baggy pants,
and a canvas belt.

“It’s a skeleton, or nearly a skeleton, in a hanging cage,” he said. “It’s dressed like someone from a World War Two movie.” He crouched a bit to see the breast of the skeleton, and read its name aloud. “Bates. Why is this here?”

“It’s probably a warning,” Sangster said. “Don’t get distracted, just keep moving.”

Breathe. Keep moving.
Alex began to edge past the skeleton.

And then it woke up.

A rattling hiss erupted from the thin, mummified lips as the dead, dry eyes within the skull focused on him. A bony arm shot out of the cage as Alex passed, grabbing his jacket.

“Yahh!” Alex tried to twist away, and the bony hand gripped harder—its fingers were partially in his pocket. “It’s alive, it’s got me!”

Time froze for a second as Alex felt himself being tugged toward the cage, the nearly clean skull gnashing its teeth at him. The skull was beginning to moan.
Wait. Wait.
He had the Polibow in his hands.

“Bash it,” said Sangster evenly, only the slightest hint of whatever concern he must be feeling. “Get free.”

Alex swung the Polibow down against the thing’s wrist
and felt it crack and fall away, clattering back against the cage. He panted and stepped back farther down the corridor, staring as the skeleton kept pawing futilely at him from within his cage.

“I’m free,” he said.

The skeleton was still moaning.

“That’s a zombie moan,” Sangster said insistently.

“I know! It’s a freaking zombie skeleton in a freaking—”

“It’s going to call others.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” said Sangster.

Slowly Alex turned, as the sound of unearthly, guttural moaning began to pour from the dark tunnel beyond.

Through his infrared glasses he could see the forms begin to shamble away from coffers in the wall—shuffling corpses, slowly moving toward him. Zombies.

“Oh my God,” Alex said.

“How many are there?”

“I see six,” Alex said.

“They’ll be slow and stupid,” Sangster said rapidly. “Try to move past them. Don’t let them grab you. If you have to kill one, a head shot is your only choice.”

The zombies moved slowly, forming a helter-
skelter line across the tunnel. “I don’t see a space to get through.”

Sangster paused for a second. “Pick the tallest one, bend low, run fast, and hit him below the knees. Keep running.”

Alex nodded even though Sangster couldn’t see him. The zombies coming toward him were four males and two females, some in civilian clothing. One was wearing a kilt.

A soldier zombie in the middle was tallest, still wearing its World War II helmet, its skeletal head tilted sideways. Alex bent low and ran.

The dull stench of old decay hit his nose as Alex’s shoulder struck the zombie at the knees. The two zombies on either side saw him coming, staring mindlessly and pawing at him as their fellow tumbled over. Alex rolled past and then started to scramble up, but his foot slipped on the slick stone of the tunnel. He sprawled out.

The zombie he had plowed under was still lying face-down, confused, but the ones on either side were tracking Alex. When he slipped, his foot came close to one of them and a long, bony arm grabbed his ankle. The zombie, a man in a parka, opened its mouth and moaned.

Alex tried to rise but the zombie began to drag him.
Alex raised the Polibow, aiming for the head. He fired a bolt and hit the zombie in the shoulder. It staggered, still pulling. Alex was sliding on his back. He fired again, catching the zombie in the head this time, and it fell back, dead. Another lunged and this time Alex was ready, bringing the Polibow up and close to the zombie’s forehead, firing.

Alex got up. The others were still coming; the one he had tripped had managed to flip over and get up. Alex began to run, and felt a crunch beneath his feet as he went. He kept running as the moans persisted.

Think. They’re coming steadily.
If he wanted to sneak into the school and rescue his friends, he had to deal with them or they’d follow him the whole way. Other creatures, smarter creatures, could hear them at any second.

Alex stopped as the four remaining zombies came toward him. He looked at the Polibow. He had five shots left.

He picked a zombie, ran toward it, and pumped a bolt into its head before the others could grab him. He turned around and took out the second.

The third, slow moving but insistent, grabbed him by the jacket. Alex took the zombie by the wrist and spun it against the wall. He raised the Polibow and fired, drop
ping the zombie.

One more, but it was close—it was on him, jaws snapping and moaning. Alex fired, missing, the bolt zinging into the distance.
One left.
Then he would have to reload, and that would mean opening the pack.
Make it count.
The zombie came close, mouth open wide. Alex put the Polibow between its teeth and drove a bolt up into its brain.

He stepped back. He was alone.

Very alone. He had dropped, and crushed, the Bluetooth.