Tears of No Return Page 5

  Nothing was left except for whatever material was kept in an offsite facility. Morgan was free; the tracking device in his bones unable to be used to find him. That was the price for The Murphy Group being a small and privately run organization. Morgan was more or less liberated of his duties, but would have to keep feeding. The assignments were over, but his job would own him if he wanted to live, forever giving The Murphy Group a circuitous route to building the body count of dead vamps.

  ***

  In 1990, Morgan was shocked to learn that The Murphy Group had been re-established, becoming The Murphy Unit and a private part of the U.S. military devoted to the eradication and study of paranormal phenomena. Since that time, The Murphy Unit had developed into a top level scientific and military juggernaut with an unlimited budget and infinite resources at their disposal. Morgan wanted Commander Keegan dead, but was unable to get close to the man, who sent assassins after him.

  As the years went on, The Murphy Unit kept Morgan constantly on the move, never letting him settle down anywhere for too long. Morgan had grown used to the Nomadic life, as annoying as it was, until one day his enemies relented.

  He could only guess that Commander Keegan had died or retired, and the new head grew tired of wasting manpower on him. Or that something bigger had come along for them to focus on. Either way, he was relieved, but always kept an eye out for The Murphy Unit.

  Chapter 5

  Karen left the bank. She wondered what else could go wrong when she was incapacitated with pain again. This time, every cell in her body spasmed. The bottom of her feet burned against her shoes as if the soles had become hot irons.

  She went down hard. Her knees collided with the pavement, each one feeling as if it had been bashed with a sledgehammer. Falling forward, she braced herself with her hands. Karen’s palms exploded with agony upon impact with the sidewalk. Blackness fell over her.

  She awoke to find herself the subject of a large crowd; strange faces stared down at her. A man wearing a gray suit raised a cell phone to his ear.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, pulling the cell away from his face.

  “Yes,” Karen said, her skin no longer feeling as if it was on fire, but her head continued to pound. She knew it was the transformation taking place within her, and with that thought, she got to her feet.

  “Miss, I think you should stay down and wait for help,” the man said. “I called 911. An ambulance is on the way.”

  “I’m fine,” she said before pushing her way through the crowd. The man tried speaking to her again, but Karen ran off. “Please leave me alone,” she yelled. After a couple of blocks, realizing no one from the scene was following her, she hurried the rest of the way home.

  She entered her building through the garage, making sure her car was still parked where she had left it, then took the elevator to the building’s lobby. From there, she rode to the twenty-first floor; the journey smooth unlike the rest of her day. After the doors opened, she turned left toward her apartment and heard voices, male.

  “The bitch isn’t here,” one said.

  “Wait here for her,” another growled. “I’m going down to check the building’s surveillance cameras and see when she last left.”

  Karen raced back, but the elevator was now on the twenty-eighth floor according to the overhead numbers. She jabbed the button relentlessly as if pressing it harder and faster would let it know she was in urgent need of escape. The numbers began counting down. After chiming its arrival, the doors opened. Karen bolted inside and thumbed the ‘close’ button with harder stabs.

  “Hold the elevator,” the man yelled.

  The door closed just as she saw the right side of his massive chest enter her view. Letting out a bottled breath, she took the elevator to the lobby and returned to the garage. The doors opened on the level where her car was parked. Karen peered out, making sure no one was waiting for her. She walked rapidly to her car, her body upright and stiff. Pulling out her keys, she fingered the unlock button on her remote and heard the familiar chirp. Ready to jump in and tear out of the place, she felt her heart sink. The left front tire was completely flat.

  Her first thought was that the men after her had done the deed but dismissed it—they’d have slashed all the tires. She glanced at the parking garage’s elevator, making sure no one was coming. Turning back to her car she stared at the flat tire. Leaving the car wasn’t an option. Besides being low on cash, public transportation was too risky. Taxis could be tracked and trains could be stopped. She would need the car to get out of the city and stay mobile.

  Karen opened the car door and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat before heading to the trunk. She began emptying things, office folders and a blanket, onto the ground in order to get to the spare. Grabbing the tire iron and jack, she went to work. The car was up quickly; the lugs off within minutes. She had changed flat tires before, growing up during a time when cell phones weren’t so common.

  With the spare on—a full-sized tire—she hastily tightened the lugs. A small but comforting sense of triumph fell over her; giving her badly needed strength. The reprieve, however, was short-lived. Upon lowering the jack, the elevator door chimed. Karen froze. Panic fell over her.

  On her knees, she couldn’t see past the car parked next to hers. She left the jack and crawled to the car’s rear, peering around the bumper. The man from upstairs stepped out of the elevator. He must have seen her on the security camera.

  Karen scrambled backward, the jack only halfway to the ground. She’d never lower it in time.

  “Karen,” the man called. “Karen Lakemire.” The man’s voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure she was there. “Karen, I’m Special Agent McKlintock. I’m here to help. I’m not going to hurt you.” The man’s voice sounded closer.

  Karen opened the passenger door. The car chimed in response—a dead giveaway to her location. “I have a gun!”

  “Now why would you need a gun, Karen? I’m here to help. You may have been infected with a virus. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “Don’t come any closer or I’ll blow your head off,” she said, getting down to the ground and looking under the car. She saw shiny black shoes. He’d stopped walking. Maybe he believed her about the gun.

  “Karen, this is only going to happen one of two ways: you come with me and let us help you, or you’re going to be taken by force. We can’t let you into the population, infecting others. Either way you’re coming with me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, and began to rock the car, pushing her weight against it, hoping to knock the jack down. She needed to get the car to the ground and finish tightening the bolts.

  “I don’t believe you have a gun, Karen. I’m coming over there, unarmed.”

  Karen heard the man’s footsteps, as if he’d purposely made them louder than they needed to be.

  “Well, I do have a gun and you’ll find out when you get here,” she said. “Josh gave it to me.”

  The man’s footfalls stopped. “Josh was a sick man. I’m betting he told you a lot of things. I can assure you that they were all lies. If you don’t come with me you’ll end up like him.”

  She climbed partially into the car, leaving her feet in contact with the pavement, and began pushing against the ground, trying to get the jack to fall. The very real threat of being captured or killed stoked her fear. The agent would be upon her soon. Grunting, Karen threw all her energy into the effort. The car lurched forward, crashing to the pavement, freed of the jack.

  Pulling her feet inside the vehicle, she closed the door and turned the key in the ignition.

  The car wouldn’t start.

  Chapter 6

  Morgan made it to his house in downtown Poughkeepsie. He needed a fresh supply of vampire blood, but as it was just after dawn he would be forced to use his emergency ration. He opened the freezer and took out the frozen blood popsicle. The older the blood, the less nutritious—and palatable—it became. Still, Morgan devoured
the frozen blood. His supply was running dangerously low. He needed to restock his freezer.

  He spent most of the day sleeping, rose at sundown, showered. While dressing, he realized it was time to move. The area’s vampire population had been decreasing since his arrival, and now with the Morses around it would dwindle further. He decided to head south, relax in a small town for a few days and not worry about hunters or vamps. He was long overdue for a vacation.

  There had to be more to life than simply killing vampires. He would need to find The Murphy Unit and the priest who helped make him what he now was, if the man was still alive. But until then he would take it easy.

  Morgan didn’t like what he had become, but it was far better to have his soul back—if that’s what had truly happened—than to be an evil, oversized, blood-drinking mosquito. The life of an anti-vampire wasn’t his choice, but he had to admit, in a way, he was glad the Murphy bastards had captured him.

  He could have killed himself and been done with his life. The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but he was on a path he’d come to accept. He believed in reason and fate. And whatever fate had in store for him, he was set to see it through. Maybe this was punishment for all the lives he had taken and the suffering he had placed on the living.

  His current situation was one that he could use to help right the wrongs inflicted upon the world. He’d never met a good vampire; they were all evil. It was his responsibility now to protect humans from them, whether he liked it or not. He would do his job until the day a true cure could be found, and at that juncture he would have the choice of staying his current path or becoming human again.

  Morgan gathered what little possessions he had, stuffed them in a small pack, and headed out the door. The lease was paid for a full year. He would head south, and only stop when he found a place that suited his needs.

  But first he had a squealer to kill.

  Chapter 7

  Karen jumped into the driver’s seat, realizing she needed to press the brake in order for the car to start. With her foot firmly on the brake pedal, she turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. Putting the gearshift in reverse, she removed her foot from the brake and stomped on the gas pedal. The Mercedes lurched backwards, slamming into the vehicle parked behind. Karen’s head flew back into the headrest. She jammed the car into drive and hit the gas again, praying the spare tire would stay on.

  Sitting up and adjusting herself, Karen looked out her window to see agent McKlintock pointing a gun in her direction. Half a second later the driver-side window shattered, sending shards of glass, like dangerous confetti, over her entire body. She didn’t hear a gunshot, guessing he was using a silencer. Wasn’t that what all creepy government agents did? More bullets slammed holes into the car. She swerved right and left like a drunk driver, hoping to avoid getting hit, as fragments of glass spilled out of her hair and tumbled around inside the car. She felt a searing pain like she’d been cattle-prodded on her left knee. Heart in her throat, she glanced down and saw her pant leg was bloody and torn. She began flexing the limb as she drove, the knee bending normally. The damage, she hoped, was minor.

  With the agent behind her, she felt a slight hint of calm before the rear window exploded, the sound deafening. Karen’s dread surged back completely. The passenger side headrest exploded into puffy white clouds of fabric. The man was definitely trying to kill her.

  The parking garage exited onto a narrow street. She took the turn too fast and slid sideways into a parked truck. The impact sent a jolt through her body and pain shooting down her neck. More bullets thudded the car. Karen regained her composure. She saw the man reloading and hit the gas, taking off down the street, the truck’s side mirror wrapped in a twisted embrace around hers.

  She raced along the street, blowing through a stop sign, and barely missed colliding with a taxi. She needed to get control of the situation. Using her rearview mirror, she glanced back. No one was following, at least that she could tell. She drove, taking turns without purpose other than she wasn’t sure where to go. Traffic was normal for that time of day in the city and she didn’t think she had to worry about getting shot at with so many people around. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself—a bullet-ridden Mercedes was enough—so she drove as normally as her adrenaline-filled body allowed.

  Twenty blocks later, she turned down a one-way street. The venue wasn’t a main artery for the city, with only the occasional vehicle passing by. Karen pulled over, waiting next to a fire hydrant. She kept watch on the rearview mirror, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a few minutes she began to calm down; her heart only beating twice as fast as normal, she thought with a humorless chuckle. She needed to think. Where to go? What to do? Melanie, her best friend. She needed to call Melanie, but didn’t want to use her cell phone. The agents might trace it.

  Karen removed the phone from her purse. She held it for a moment, staring at it and thinking of all the numbers and job contacts within. She opened the back, removed the battery, and was about to throw it out of the window, but couldn’t. As long as the battery was out the phone couldn’t be traced. For now, she’d have to use payphones until she could buy a burner.

  A man walking by stopped. Karen looked up. He stared at the car then at Karen, and asked if she was okay.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Looks like you been in a war, honey,” the man said, eyeing the car.

  “I’m fine, really. Just wanting a little privacy.”

  The man huffed, clearly offended, and walked away mumbling.

  Karen flipped the visor down, stared into the mirror. She had scratches on her face and fragments of glass in her hair. Her eyes began tearing up, but she fought against the emotions as she plucked pieces of glass from her scalp. Reaching in the glove box, she grabbed tissues and wiped her face. The pain in her knee was sobering and something she could use to focus on to keep from completely losing it.

  People walked past and gawked at the wreck. She needed to get out of the area before the police arrived.

  As she climbed from the Mercedes, the pain in her knee worsened. With her pant leg already ripped, she was able to spread the fabric and examine the wound. The knee looked singed and burned, as if she’d laid a curling iron on it, but the bullet must have only grazed her. Karen had been lucky.

  Glancing at the car, she couldn’t believe she wasn’t dead. The vehicle looked like a Swiss cheese special or something from a gangster movie after a hit. Bullet holes were everywhere, the windows blown out. The car had multiple dents and long scratches. Parts of it looked like crinkled aluminum foil; only broken shards of red and clear plastic remained of the rear lights. It was now a cop magnet and she had to leave it.

  Karen got back into the car and removed the first aid kit from the glove box. She disinfected the wound with antiseptic pads, each swipe agonizing, before bandaging it up with gauze.

  She pulled a fresh pair of jeans from her luggage. Ignoring the onlookers, she changed her pants, wincing from the wound to her knee. She didn’t want to block the hydrant, a stupid thing to worry about in a crisis, but she had to get away before the police or, worse, the agents arrived. She grabbed her purse and luggage and fled the scene.

  Chapter 8

  Morgan headed to Thomas’s home, a rundown apartment complex located in one of the worst neighborhoods in Poughkeepsie. After pounding on the door and receiving no reply, he broke in. Thomas wasn’t home.

  Thomas Agorik was a lowlife, even for a vampire; a scavenger that preyed on the weak and troubled. He enjoyed any and all narcotics and had a nasty habit of picking up teenagers—runaways and whatnot—and draining them dry in secluded places while they pleaded for their families. Morgan had wanted to kill the bastard upon meeting him, and almost had, but the junkie proved resourceful, becoming Morgan’s confidential informant in the vampire world. Thomas kept Morgan informed of the affairs of the underground community, a part of the vampire world Morgan didn’t
spend a lot of time among.

  Morgan was part of the undead community—vampires believing he was one of them—but like all communities, there were class levels. He dealt mostly with the upper echelon and middle-class, not so much with the underground, those lower-than-werewolf-shit vampires. Thomas kept those crazed and animal-like creatures of the night as associates at arm’s length. Morgan knew a piece of shit like Thomas could only be trusted for so long before things turned ugly, which was exactly what had happened.

  After checking around, Morgan was informed by more than one lowlife vamp he had threatened to kill that Thomas was the one responsible for the hunters cornering him.

  The Morses had captured Thomas and, knowing he was going to die, he gave them information on Morgan, a vampire high on the Morses’ list, in exchange for letting him go.

  Morgan checked all the local homeless shelters. He didn’t find Thomas, but eventually came upon his sought after target in the area of Warya’s Park, a short distance from the Poughkeepsie Bridge. Morgan noticed other bloodsuckers in the area, but none were grouped too closely together; all preoccupied with cattle of their own and not wanting to share.