Flynn dropped his hand. “Okay. Start at the top.”
“Vlad. It’s Vlad.”
Gary Parks frowned. “What, as in the Impaler?”
“Isn’t that a type of car?”
“That’s an Impala, Micky, you idiot!”
“Yes, as in the Impaler. The ‘Dracula’ of legend. Only he’s very, very real, believe me.” The academic ignored the scowling, sniffling Cox and focused on Flynn and Parks. “Remember that story I told you last night? It’s true. Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are. I expected to find nothing but bones, Mister Flynn, I swear!”
“Yeah, well that didn’t pan out, did it?” Flynn sighed. “Seriously. Look, sorry about your lad, by the way. That was bad.”
“So let me get this straight. We’re being laid siege to by Dracula? Are you serious?” Micky Cox’s voice was filled with incredulity. “Fuck off! That’s a myth!”
“Trust me, Mick, that thing out there, whether it’s actually Dracula or not, is no damn myth. So let’s ignore the fact that we’ve been dropped kicking and, in the case of Professor Braniac here, screaming into an episode of the Twilight Zone and figure out how we kill that fucker and get everyone out of here in one piece, copy?”
“Copy.” The two ex-soldiers nodded. Everything else was irrelevant. Myth or not, the identity of their opponent could be argued over later. They needed to focus on the reality of the situation. This was now a simple matter of survival.
“Right. So what’s the state of play with ordnance, Gary?”
“Not particularly tickity, to be honest. We weren’t expecting gunfights with angry vampires, boss. We’ve got two boxes of ammo for the Glocks and the three P90s are stocked up with subsonic rounds, with two spare magazines each. Other than that?” Gary shrugged. “I got some C4, if that helps?”
Flynn stared at his friend. “Why? Why do you have C4, Gary, why?”
“I thought it might be useful. Ya know. If we had a cave-in or something. And had to blast our way out. Hey, look. I don’t feel right if I ain’t got at least a little bit of Play Doh to bugger about with, okay?” Gary’s explanation tailed off into a mumbled, petulant mutter.
“Normally, I would be gently taking it off you and calling the men in white coats. But today, you crazy fucker, you might just have convinced me that your presence on this op hasn’t been a total waste of a plane ticket.” Flynn grinned at his friend. “Good. So we’ve got C4, some P90s and Glocks, and seriously limited ammo.”
“And that bloody cat.”
“And Rupert, yes, thanks, Micky.” Flynn snapped his fingers at the calico cat and it immediately stopped tormenting Micky and leapt back onto Flynn’s shoulder.
“It’s not enough,” a voice broke in.
All eyes focused on the archaeologist.
“What?” Flynn glared at the man.
“I said, it’s not enough. You’re not dealing with some Taliban terrorist here, gentlemen. You’re dealing with an ancient evil that has defeated whole armies and laid on banquets where his minions feasted on the hearts of his enemies!” The man’s voice was hitting the hysteria button pretty hard. “Once it gets through that door? I promise you, none of us will survive!”
Flynn grabbed the man’s collar and snarled in his ear. “Not helping, fella, not fucking helping! You’re upsetting my lads, mate! So enough with the ‘we’re all doomed’ shit, okay?” He tossed the man aside.
“I got a salami sandwich if that’s any use?” Micky held up a brown paper bag.
“How the hell would that be of any earthly use whatsoever, you tit? We’re up against some denizen of unmitigated fucking evil, not an angry deli counter server!” Gary cuffed his friend across the back of his head.
“Hey! It’s got garlic in it. Vampires hate garlic, right?”
All eyes turned again towards the archaeologist. He shook his head.
Flynn shrugged. “Right. So how about sunlight? Don’t they burst into flames or something when sunlight hits them? If that’s the case, then all we have to do is wait until dawn, old chompy out there has to retreat back to his cell, and we can get you and us out of here, seal up the doors and get the fuck out of Dodge, right?”
Again the archaeologist shook his head. “We’re underground, Mister Flynn. It could be midday and it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“Fine. So our options are we either blow the fucker into pink mist with Play Doh, or die of boredom and bad rations locked in here. Well, honestly boss? I didn’t expect to go out like this.” Gary Parks glared at the door and picked up a P90, winding the webbing strap around his arm and priming the stubby gun ready for action. “But whatever happens, at least we can go out shooting, right?”
“Reserve your ammo, big guy. Don’t get too trigger happy, okay? I’ve emptied two clips into this bugger and it didn’t even flinch. We need to find anoth—”
A massive impact made the door vibrate in its frame. Particles of masonry floated down. A second impact made the door judder again.
“Shit! How big is this fucker?” Micky turned and indicated at the ordnance box. Wordlessly and with the fluidity that comes with years of training, experience and working together, Gary grabbed an FNP90 out of the box and tossed it to his friend. Both men took position, stabilising their stance by dropping down to one knee and tucking the P90 hard into their shoulders. They sighted on the door, ready to fill anything that came through with hollow-points. The P90s held 50-shot magazines, so they were pretty sure they could at least dissuade Vlad from simply waltzing in and turning the armoury into an abattoir in short order.
“Wait out…” Flynn gave the order to stand by to engage as soon as the ancient door gave way. A third impact sent tremors through the wood. All three men primed their guns in unison and waited.
A fourth impact. The door flexed – but it held. Just. From beyond the iron-hard blackened wood came a primeval snuffling and snarling. Clawed fingers scrabbled at the wood, sliding ineffectually over fibres that had long ago hardened into the consistency of steel ropes. The snuffling and snarling became frenetic, the sound of scrabbling nails more frenzied. The beast let out a howl of rage and launched a barrage of attacks against the door. A final scream of pure fury rang through the granite corridor then silence. The last few motes of mortar dust floated down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Has it gone?” Micky Cox’s voice was an equal balance of hard-core ‘bring it on, you fucker!’ and just enough concern to ensure the element of self-preservation kicked in.
“Doubt it, Mick. Probably just buggered off up the corridor to take a good old run up, mate. Eye’s on.” Gary Parks’ eyes flickered briefly from the door to Flynn. “Now what, boss? Another battering like that and that door’s coming down.”
“Stand fast.” Flynn shifted his grip on his own P90 and waited. “Okay, Professor, suggestions? Because we can’t hold this thing off forever.”
“I… sir, I’m an archaeologist, not a damn strategist!”
“Fella, I’m an ex-soldier, not Buffy the fucking Vampire Slayer, but you don’t see me crying in a corner, do you? Now think! Use that brain of yours to try and figure a way out of here!” He jerked his head towards the table. “There’s a map of the citadel tunnels on the table. Find us a quick way to the surface. Because Gary’s right, that door ain’t gonna put up with another battering like that. Mister Bitey out there is coming through on the next assault, and I want to be ready for him.”