Clay

CLAY and Adam hurried through the dimly-lit slaughterhouse that had once been the happiest floor in the hospital.

"To make this work," Clay said, "we need a good-size room."

"There's an education center where they have Lamaze classes and lectures on infant care. It's right over here."

He followed Adam to a rectangular room that ran twenty feet by thirty. Multicolored lights flashed against the outside windows. Clay stepped to them and glanced down at the parking lot. He thought he could pick out troop lorries among the vehicles and milling people. Either the army or the National Guard had arrived. Good. They'd keep Shanna safe.

Couldn't think about her now...

He turned back to the room. It had windows onto the hallway as well. Good thing, because the hall had the emergency lights. None of those in here.

In the lowlight he picked out rows of folding chairs--a bonus.

"Perfect. Now I need the blood--lots of it."

"You're in luck," Adam said. He pulled open the backpack, revealing dozens of units. "All types."

Clay had been thinking about killing a couple of draculas for their blood, but this was easier, safer. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help smiling. "You're a regular Boy Scout, aren't you."

"I made Eagle."

"Well, you sure are prepared."

"I'm not prepared to turn into one of those things." He held up his bloody arm. "You said you could solve that problem and make it count--really count."

Clay fished one of the two 40mm M433 grenades out of his backpack. A couple of days ago someone had emailed him about carting an old wrecked car out into the wilds during the gun show and shooting the shit out of it. He'd figured on administering the coup de grace with these babies. But now he had a better use. He handed it to Adam.

"This is a high explosive grenade. It's got a kill radius of fifteen feet. That means a thirty-foot circle of death. I don't know if that'll apply to the draculas since they're so damn hard to kill, but two will definitely do the job."

Adam was nodding. "I see where you're going. If we can fill this room with them, and set off both rounds, we may be able to turn the tide."

Clay looked at him. "What do you mean, 'we,' kemosabe? This is going to be your show, padre, your Alamo."

"But--"

"You're gonna die, padre. And real soon. You can die here as a man and meet your maker without a mouth full of fangs, or you can die as a dracula when I blow your head off at the first sign of change. Take your pick."

Adam's face had turned a light shade of green. "As a man, of course."

"Good for you. And what better way to go out than taking a bunch of draculas with you? But that's only going to happen if I can modify these rounds."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they've got a minimum arming range of forty-five feet."

"Sorry?"

"They're designed not to detonate until they're like forty-five to ninety feet from the launcher. I need to hack the arming mechanism if this is going to work."

"You can do that?"

"Pretty sure..."

Clay's gut clenched at the prospect. He'd modified the buckshot rounds, changing the gauge of the shot and such, but the H-E grenades were lots more complicated. He hadn't ventured into one of them yet. No point in letting Adam in on that. He had enough on his plate.

"Okay," he said. "While I do my tinkering, I want you to stack all these chairs in a circle in the center of the room, but leave enough space for you in the middle."

"Why?"

"Coupla reasons. I'll explain later, because we don't have a lot of time and it won't matter if I can't arm the grenades. So circle those chairs, then get every drop of blood you can find and pour it around them like a moat. But you've got to keep the door closed as you do that. When those draculas smell blood they're like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Let's get to work."

Clay left him there and went in search of a quiet cubbyhole to work on his H-E grenades, hoping he could pull this off without turning himself into Bolognese sauce.