Code 61 - Donald Harstad [166]
“Hey, Lamar?”
“Yeah?” He barely got it out. He really should have been home in bed.
“If you run across that idiot William Chester, super vampire hunter, see if you can arrest his ass for something, will ya?” I meant it. “Anything. Just keep him the hell out of our way.”
“Sure, Carl.”
“And, if somebody can get ahold of Hester or Harry, get 'em headed back here, too. If we get our boy, they're both gonna want to talk to him ASAP.”
As we waited for the night scope, I thought about what we'd been told earlier about Dan wanting to “experience” Edie's death secondhand. The more I thought about that, the more I thought I knew why he'd taken Huck out of the house. He needed the time to “experience” her terror, by ingesting her blood while he … Jesus. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The briefing at the top of the shaft was short and sweet.
“Okay, listen up,” I said. “We won't have any radio contact down there. Don't even try. There also might be blasting caps and stuff in the mine, and radio transmissions can set them off. Got that?”
Sally, Byng, and Borman nodded.
“We're in a real hurry, here. I think she's being kept alive for a little while, but I can't say for sure. If we find her, don't move her unless you have to. She might have an IV stick in her neck, or something, and she could bleed to death if it pulls out. Understood?”
It was.
“This son of a bitch is about as delusional as you can get, and might really believe he's a vampire, and that he's immortal. He's very likely high on meth, or ecstasy or some sort of combination of the stuff. That means fast and strong. Don't count on stopping him just by sticking a gun in his face. Be prepared to shoot.” I took a breath. “Ready?”
Byng and I went first. The next pair was to be Sally and Borman.
THIRTY-TWO
Thursday, October 12, 2000
05:28
We pulled the lever on the electrical box, and the mechanism immediately started to rumble and grind. Not too loud, though. Great.
The cab took about a minute to crawl its way to the top, and when I saw it I wasn't so damned sure it was a good idea to get into the rickety thing. It was old, rusty, riveted iron bands holding old, rotting wood together. Top, sides, and floor. No door. To give you some idea about the cramped quarters, once we were jammed in, Byng was able to easily reach out and reverse the lever on the junction box. That started us rumbling and grinding toward the bottom of the shaft. There was no light in the thing, either. That was just as well, as we were going to have to dark-adapt as quickly as we could. But I could almost feel damp limestone running by about six inches from my face. I guess you just don't appreciate elevator doors until you don't have them.
It was noticeably cold when we ground to a halt at the bottom of the shaft. Cold, but not as damp as I'd expected. That was a plus.
But it damned sure was dark. There was a faint glimmer of yellowish light, though, off to the right. One point for Toby.
Byng put his hand over his flashlight, and just opened a small crack between his fingers to let a thin beam play over the wall nearest us. His hand glowed red over the lens. Spooky. He found a companion junction box, and pulled the lever down. The elevator car started its labored climb back to the top.
We moved toward the faint yellow light. The surface underfoot was silica sand, packed down into a pretty smooth surface by lots and lots of traffic. Silica sand is about as fine as table salt, or finer. It packs well, and doesn't impede movement the way beach sand would. It's quiet to walk on, too.
We'd gone about thirty feet, slowly, when the motor stopped, the elevator having reached the top. It was the first opportunity we'd had to actually listen for any sounds in the mine, and the faint strains of some music reached us.
“Music,” said Byng.
“Umm,” I said. “From where?