blade. Standing upright, having access to all sides of the nettings, it was easy to free them. And once each man was out he released the next. Within five minutes they were all standing around stretching their arms and legs madly in all directions as every part of them had fallen asleep from lack of blood, from being so cramped and tightly bunched together for hours.
“What now, Rock?” Rajat asked, as he rubbed his wrists hard and wore a big grin on his face. He had been sure the Doomsday Warrior was going to come up with something. And he had. Even if it had been just knowing to bring Chen along.
“It could be,” said Rock, “that these women have never seen weapons like ours. A bit of luck! Now we find McCaughlin, and get the hell out of here. We’ve already lost too many men and too much time.”
Rockson ripped out his .12 gauge shotpistol and headed toward the door. “Keep your weapons out at all times—and don’t move in groups of less than three. Unless they have something besides teeth and hypos and poison, we can get the hell out of here! These mutants aren’t real women! Show no mercy! I don’t want to lose any more of you. Now move, men, move!”
He tore across the room, stepping over the body of one of the Vampyre women, her rib cage clearly poking through her chest. And even as her own sickly black vampire lifeblood drained out of her into a pool around the twitching body, the lips pulled back and the fangs descended. Even in death, her body was all vampire.
Fifteen
A s they hit the hall outside the refrigeration room, Rock could see they were in a long warehouse filled with silverware, pots and pans, all the accessories of a real diner—and more. Also visible was their vampire equipment—there were rows of hypo needles, tubes, cannisters to collect blood in. Rockson shuddered even as he saw the stuff. They’d take care of smashing that stuff later—it was the living that mattered now.
There was no one else in the warehouse and the strike force split into teams under command of each of the core Rock team members. Each headed toward the different doors of the place.
Rock took Argas and Collins, two of the combat men, and the two whiz kids. He wanted to keep his eye on them. After everything that had happened, they were still alive, which all things considered was close to a miracle. But miracles tended to come few and far between. And he didn’t want to lose the little spaceship experts, or the entire expedition was finito.
Rock threw open the main door of the place—and a large tin roof warehouse—and came out with shotpistol at chest level as the two combat men charged behind carrying their Liberator automatic .9mm subs. Thank god the Vampyres hadn’t stripped them of their weapons. Doubtless it was going to be a fatal oversight for the she-bitches!
Even as they emerged, two of the Vampyre women who were pushing a corpse along in a wheelbarrow stopped in their tracks, their faces grew demonic, fangs extending, eyes glowing deep yellow.
And there was something else about the Vampyres that Rock hadn’t noticed inside the dim refrigerator room—they had wings. Now the Vampyres unfurled them from behind their backs and came toward the humans like nightmare bats, skimming just yards above the ground. Their little ugly gray shriveled wings flapped wildly—not able to give them full flight, but sure as hell good for a few short quick hops.
Rock ripped his shotpistol up and let loose with two blasts and two blood drinkers went careening off sideways in opposite directions in a tangle of screams and blood and broken wings.
With that, the shit really hit the fan—and the Vampyres were shooting out from everywhere.
“Hit the exits, men,” Rock yelled. They did.
Outside there were six small tin-roofed wooden shacks spread out around the warehouse. A hundred yards to the left was U-ETE-HERE, the diner itself. Obviously it was the center of the entire trap-and-bleed operation, for from
“What now, Rock?” Rajat asked, as he rubbed his wrists hard and wore a big grin on his face. He had been sure the Doomsday Warrior was going to come up with something. And he had. Even if it had been just knowing to bring Chen along.
“It could be,” said Rock, “that these women have never seen weapons like ours. A bit of luck! Now we find McCaughlin, and get the hell out of here. We’ve already lost too many men and too much time.”
Rockson ripped out his .12 gauge shotpistol and headed toward the door. “Keep your weapons out at all times—and don’t move in groups of less than three. Unless they have something besides teeth and hypos and poison, we can get the hell out of here! These mutants aren’t real women! Show no mercy! I don’t want to lose any more of you. Now move, men, move!”
He tore across the room, stepping over the body of one of the Vampyre women, her rib cage clearly poking through her chest. And even as her own sickly black vampire lifeblood drained out of her into a pool around the twitching body, the lips pulled back and the fangs descended. Even in death, her body was all vampire.
Fifteen
A s they hit the hall outside the refrigeration room, Rock could see they were in a long warehouse filled with silverware, pots and pans, all the accessories of a real diner—and more. Also visible was their vampire equipment—there were rows of hypo needles, tubes, cannisters to collect blood in. Rockson shuddered even as he saw the stuff. They’d take care of smashing that stuff later—it was the living that mattered now.
There was no one else in the warehouse and the strike force split into teams under command of each of the core Rock team members. Each headed toward the different doors of the place.
Rock took Argas and Collins, two of the combat men, and the two whiz kids. He wanted to keep his eye on them. After everything that had happened, they were still alive, which all things considered was close to a miracle. But miracles tended to come few and far between. And he didn’t want to lose the little spaceship experts, or the entire expedition was finito.
Rock threw open the main door of the place—and a large tin roof warehouse—and came out with shotpistol at chest level as the two combat men charged behind carrying their Liberator automatic .9mm subs. Thank god the Vampyres hadn’t stripped them of their weapons. Doubtless it was going to be a fatal oversight for the she-bitches!
Even as they emerged, two of the Vampyre women who were pushing a corpse along in a wheelbarrow stopped in their tracks, their faces grew demonic, fangs extending, eyes glowing deep yellow.
And there was something else about the Vampyres that Rock hadn’t noticed inside the dim refrigerator room—they had wings. Now the Vampyres unfurled them from behind their backs and came toward the humans like nightmare bats, skimming just yards above the ground. Their little ugly gray shriveled wings flapped wildly—not able to give them full flight, but sure as hell good for a few short quick hops.
Rock ripped his shotpistol up and let loose with two blasts and two blood drinkers went careening off sideways in opposite directions in a tangle of screams and blood and broken wings.
With that, the shit really hit the fan—and the Vampyres were shooting out from everywhere.
“Hit the exits, men,” Rock yelled. They did.
Outside there were six small tin-roofed wooden shacks spread out around the warehouse. A hundred yards to the left was U-ETE-HERE, the diner itself. Obviously it was the center of the entire trap-and-bleed operation, for from
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