“—in the movies. Open the…but maybe it’ll…the lock,” he said, staring at her.
She could only shake her head. What was he saying?
Looking as if he’d lost all patience with her, Glauer finally drew a bead on the lock plate on the edge of the door with his rifle. Grimacing, he squeezed the trigger before she could stop him. The enormous bullet pranged off the lock plate and Caxton felt its wind as it ricocheted past her cheek. It could have killed her, could have blown her brains out.
“You idiot,” she shouted, and was surprised to find she could hear herself. Then she looked at the lock plate. The bullet had smashed in the keyhole, deforming the lock mechanism altogether. More importantly, the door had stopped jumping.
Maybe Glauer’s stupid move had actually jammed the lock. Or maybe the vampires were afraid of being shot through the door. It didn’t matter.
She shook her head and pushed Glauer toward Taneytown Road, which ran past the side of the Cyclorama building. He’d bought them a few more seconds, but that was all they were going to get.
80.
This was the first battle I’d ever directly witnessed. I suppose I had imagined men in pressed blue uniforms whirling sabers in the air, calling other men on to a glorious attack. It was nothing like that at all. At Gettysburg I saw soldiers pressed forth into withering fire, muskets popping and blasting, the oncoming men knowing not which way they should run. I saw the guns chew the land up and spit out corpses, flinging them high in the air. I saw much blood; and many dead men, far more than I could stomach. They lay in heaps, or strewn about the field as if they’d been lead soldiers, tossed aside by a bored and impatient child. They were hauled back behind the line when it was possible, which was rarely, and there stacked like cordwood. The wounded far outnumbered them, but the sight of these was almost worse. So many men begging for water, for a surgeon, and so few of those to go around. There was always some man screaming his last, and some other begging him to shut his mouth and be quiet.
This was the second day of the battle, which had been running hot all day. Lee held the northwest, and all of Seminary Ridge while we faced him across a sunken roadway from the top of Cemetery Ridge. Rebels came roaring up that incline, their weapons high, their packs swinging, and they were chopped down like wheat at harvest. As they ran they screeched and hollered and bleated out the worst noise I have ever heard. This was the famed “Rebel Yell,” and its design was to strike fear into our hearts. It worked well enough on me.
—THE PAPERS OFWILLIAMPITTENGER
81.
Her hearing came back, but not perfectly. A dull grinding buzz filled her head and it didn’t diminish over time. Repeated exposure to the noise generated by the flashbangs could permanently deafen someone, she knew, and she worried she was already halfway there.
She could hear her own clothing rustle, though, which had to be a good sign. In the distance she could hear gunfire—patrol rifles, some discharging in short, careful bursts, others going wild with pointless automatic fire.
She ran behind a tree and signaled for Glauer to come up next to her. “Some of our guys are still out here,” she said. “They must have been trapped—unable to get to the next fallback point.”
“We could go find them, try to help them,” Glauer suggested. He sounded like he was shouting at her from a far-off hilltop, even though he was only a few feet away. “They’ll get slaughtered out here.”
She shook her head. She had to think like Arkeley, do what Arkeley would have done. The old Fed would have known better than to go racing blindly into the dark in the hopes of rescuing his troops. He would have considered them disposable. For Arkeley the only thing that mattered was that the vampires died.
She couldn’t reconcile that with her own conscience. But her rational mind was willing to accept it for the time being. “We need to stick to the plan,” she said. She looked up at Glauer. “You should have stuck to the plan. You shouldn’t have waited for me out here in the open.”
He shrugged. “We’re partners, right? You don’t abandon your partner in the middle of a firefight.”
She scowled and looked away, toward the road. Partners. Glauer’s old partner, Garrity, had died at the hands of a vampire. Glauer had refused to give chase, instead sticking with Garrity even though he was already dead.
Caxton had been Arkeley’s partner, once. At least she’d thought of herself that way. Arkeley had only ever meant to use her as bait.
“Come on,” she said, and hurried out into the road. The streetlamps lit up the dark asphalt but nothing beyond the edge of the road. They ruined her night vision, but still she squinted into the shadows, ready for any threat that came toward her.
It was Glauer who saw the danger when it came.
“Something moved,” he said, raising one hand to point at a cannon sitting by the side of the road. The streetlight dripped from the rim of one of its wheels. “There,” he said again, much louder.
A vampire launched itself from behind the cannon, streaking across the asphalt. For a second Caxton thought she saw his red eyes. She swung her rifle up and fired three shots, but she knew she wouldn’t hit the vampire. It was just suppressing fire.
“Run,” she shouted, and then booked across the road, her knees pumping madly.
The visitors center, their next fallback point, sat low and massive directly in front of her. It was a sprawling pile of yellow brick with plenty of doors, much less defensible than the Cyclorama building.
She rushed up to the front entrance, a row of glass doors, and shoved her way inside, Glauer pressing up tight behind her. Behind the row of doors lay a narrow entrance foyer and beyond that the main access point to the building. She crouched down and stared through the glass, trying to see the vampire she’d shot at. For a few panicked seconds she waited, trying not to move too much, trying not to breathe.
Apparently the vampire was too smart to try a frontal attack. Or maybe he’d just been after somebody else all along.
“Okay,” she said, finally. “Let’s move in.”
Glauer went first, his rifle cradled in his good arm. He kicked open an inner door and ran through, then jumped back hurriedly as bullets tore out of the darkness. The noise in the enclosed foyer was like the ringing of giant iron bells, and the muzzle flashes dazzled Caxton’s eyes. She understood what was happening instantly, though.
“Stand down!” Caxton shouted, grabbing Glauer’s belt and pulling him back, away from the door.
“We’re on your side!”
A scared-looking face popped out of the inner door. It was one of the guardsmen, one of the troops she’d seen at the Cyclorama Center. The one who had wanted a pony.
“Shit,” he said, looking at Caxton and then Glauer. He chewed on his lower lip. “We thought you were—”
“Vampires. Yeah,” Caxton said. She cursed herself for nearly getting Glauer killed. “Well, we’re not.
Can we come in?”
The guardsman stepped back from the door and she pushed past him into the main lobby of the visitor center, a cluttered space of display cases and signage. A ticket counter lined the wall on her right, while a darkened gift shop stood on her left. At the far end of the room exits led into gloomy hallways, posted with signs for guided tours and the “famous” electric map.
Three guardsmen sat on the floor, their weapons across their knees. They stared up at her with terrified eyes. The guardsman who had shot at them leaned against the ticket counter, looking into the shadows, specifically not meeting her gaze. He had corporal’s bars on his uniform and a name tag that read HOWELL .