The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort) by Alan K Baker Page A

back a few feet and began to swerve into the limousine’s rear end. The car jerked and shuddered with each metallic clank, and Tony fought the steering wheel in an effort to keep on a straight course. Fort had been worried about other cars being shunted off the elevated section of the Expressway; but now he realised that the vampires were trying to do precisely that to the limousine. He guessed that they were about fifty feet up. If the limo went over the side, he didn’t give much for their chances of surviving the fall.
    ‘Okay,’ said Capone suddenly. ‘I’ve had just about enough of this shit.’
    With a hiss of pistons he leaned forward, reached under his seat and brought out what looked like a Thompson submachine gun – although the distinctive drum magazine was twice the normal size.
    ‘I don’t think that’s going to be much good against a bunch of vampires, Mr Capone,’ observed Fort, as another shunt from the car behind nearly threw him to the floor.
    ‘Correction, Charlie boy,’ replied Capone as he cocked the weapon with a loud click. ‘Your normal Chicago typewriter carries .45 ACP cartridges, which have about as much effect on a nightwalker as bad language; but this baby has rock crystal shells full of holy water – and that’s a different story!’
    ‘Chicago typewriter?’ said Lovecraft.
    ‘It’s a nickname for a Tommy gun, Howard,’ Fort replied.
    ‘Oh… I rather like that.’
    ‘Glad you approve, librarian,’ said Capone as he reached up and pressed a button set flush with the ceiling of the passenger cabin. A large panel in the ceiling slid forward, and Capone stood up so that his head and upper torso were poking through the opening.
    The pistons mounted where a human’s hips would be hissed and flexed as the Diesel-powered Gangster pivoted around and brought the modified Tommy gun to bear on the vampire car which was still in its flanking position at the limousine’s side.
    ‘Hey, dumb fucks!’ he shouted at the top of his artificial lungs. ‘Get a load of this!’
    He began firing through the open windows of the vampires’ car. Fort and Lovecraft could hear the resulting screams even above the roar of the limousine’s engine and the stutter of competing gunfire. The car behind ceased its attempts to shunt the limo off the road. Fort guessed that the drive had been taken by surprise at this new turn of events.
    The arms holding the machine guns, black-sleeved and gloved, began to jerk violently, so that the bullets flew in all directions. One uncontrolled volley struck the rear end of a large delivery truck in front of the limo. Several bullets hit the tyres, which exploded with loud rubbery bangs.
    The truck began to swerve back and forth across the road as the driver fought to control the wheel. It took just a few moments for him to lose the battle with his vehicle’s high centre of gravity. The truck threw itself over like a child having a tantrum, spilling its contents across the road and sliding along the asphalt in a shower of sparks.
    ‘Oh shit,’ said Tony as he tried to avoid the wreck, but the driver of the second vampire car had seen his opportunity and accelerated sharply, ploughing into the rear of the limo and shunting it forward just as the zombie driver spun his steering wheel to the left. The huge vehicle slewed across the road, its oversized tyres screeching in protest.
    ‘Hold onto your hats, boys,’ said Capone as he ducked down and dropped onto the rear seat, crushing one of his zombies to a stinking pulp as he did so. ‘Oh… sorry, Pauly.’
    ‘Dat’s okay, boss,’ the zombie gurgled, just before his head fell off and rolled messily onto the floor.
    With a sickening crunch, the limousine hit the upended delivery truck side-on. Fort, Lovecraft and the other zombie were thrown violently to one side of the cabin by the impact, and then to the floor. Fort’s head collided with that of the crushed zombie.
    ‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘Sorry,