"As other teams arrive they will be diverted to those trouble spots. This is our turf, so local law enforcement knows us and is helping out. National Guard, same thing. Mostly they can be used as perimeter security, but if you think you can trust them, press them into service as well. We don't have time to screw around, so if you find where the vamps are sleeping, just blow it straight to hell. We don't have time to stake and chop and all that. If they're in a mine, collapse it. If they're in a building, burn it down. If you need to, borrow a tank from the National Guard. If they're inside something that you can't justify blowing up, then do what you have to do."
"How many threats are we talking about?" Sam asked.
"Potentially hundreds." There was some murmuring and swearing at that, from everybody except the untested Newbies who had not yet seen a real undead. "We always thought that vampires were limited in the number of new creations they could make. That was always our theory on how come they didn't just bite everybody and overrun us. Looks like we were wrong, at least when it comes to Masters. We're looking at a few different threats here, so let me break it down. Somehow the CO is able to bring people back as wights. Then we have two kinds of vamps, the regular new creations, where somebody is just killed and comes back as one, and apparently a stronger, smarter type, made by biting the victim, and then giving them some of the Master vampire's own blood and power."
"Like Darné?" I asked. The former French Hunter had been amazingly fast and seemed to be in full control of his faculties, unlike the more animalistic creatures that had been the other vampires.
"Most likely. So we're talking about some serious bad asses. Plus we know that he can animate gargoyles as well, though there have not been any sightings of those since the ones that Pitt and Julie killed. Nobody knows how long it takes to create one of those, or even how many he brought over to start with."
"What do we have?" Milo asked.
"Counting us and the Newbies, we have about twelve teams of Hunters. Six people in the hospital or on medical leave. Seventy total personnel available," Julie answered.
"Seventy-one," her grandfather said from the head of the table. He pulled a well-oiled S&W 1917 from under his sweater and put it on the table with a clunk. "I ain't sitting this one out."
"But, Grandpa…" Julie said.
"Whoever thought I would get to live this long anyway, kid? This old man is looking for a fight. These bastards killed my boy, even if he was a crazy son of a bitch himself. Monsters don't get to kill a Shackleford and get away with it. It sets bad precedent."
"Seventy-two," Dorcas added, her grandmotherly looks not quite matching the steel in her voice. "Try to stop me, you'll be tasting my plastic foot. I can still run a machine gun with the best of them."
"We help," said a gravelly voice from the doorway. I had not heard Skippy approach. "Ten warriors… Five who heal… Ride to battle… Slay many foes."
"Skippy, you don't have to. Your people are so few in number as it is," Harbinger said.
"Harb Anger deny us… honor… of battle?" Skippy asked. His voice sounded extra distorted through his flight helmet's face shield.
"No. Of course not." The Director bowed his head. "My clan thanks you for your brave warriors."
"Eighty-seven total staff then," Julie said. "Against probably double that number of powerful undead and who knows what, spread from one corner of the South to the other."
Eighty-eight, said the voice of the Old Man in my head. I wished he would stop doing that. It freaked me out. I may have a weird job, but that doesn't mean that I liked hearing voices in my head.
"Who's going to Natchy Bottom?" Sam asked.
"Feds are going to be the ones doing all of the fighting, and we can let them be the muscle. So we'll just take the Hind. Skippy flies of course, and one can ride co-pilot. Then we can fit eight plus gear."
"I'm going," Julie said.
"No. You're injured, and I need you here to coordinate the arriving teams."
"Bullshit," she snapped. "This is personal."
"I know, and that's why you ain't going," Harbinger stated.
"Wrong. I'm on that helicopter or you can have my resignation right now, and I'll drive up there myself." Julie stood up from the table. "Don't push me, Earl. She's going to be there, and she isn't going to rest until she gets me too."
Harbinger slowly nodded, his cigarette dangling from his lips. "Fine," he said. "Julie, Sam, Milo, so my whole team. Pitt, he knows the bad guys better than anybody. That leaves four volunteers. Keep in mind, this is probably going to be real dangerous. Most likely all seven of the Masters plus whatever powers that the Cursed One himself has."
"I'm going," Trip said, surprising no one.
"You feel up to it?"
"What, this?" He pointed at his battered face. "Just a scratch."
"I'm in," Holly stated. "Any excuse to kill something."
"Me too," Albert Lee offered.
"Nope. Your ribs are still jacked up. No offense, Lee, but if anything, you're going to run support for a local team. Sorry. Two more." He pointed at Dorcas. "Oh hell no. Don't even think about it. If Julie's going, I definitely need you here to coordinate. Once that's done then you can go get yourself killed all you want."
The older woman slowly lowered her hand.
Lee raised his hand again. "Mr. Harbinger, sir. I can do it. I feel a lot better. I won't slow us down, plus I've been doing nothing but studying the archives for the last week. Maybe something I learned can help." You had to admire our demolitionist librarian. It took some guts to stand up to Harbinger's overwhelming presence. "It wasn't even a real break, just a minor fracture, and Gretchen gave me some stuff, said that I'm good to go."
Harbinger scowled and thought about it for a moment. "Fine, Lee. You're on."
"I could go," stated Julie's grandfather. She gasped. "But I'm afraid I would just slow you down." There were a few relieved sighs at that. I could not imagine that Harbinger could order around the president of the company.
"Brother…" Skippy said. "Exszrsd, Edward, Ed… great warrior. Much honor clan to go…"
"The dude with the swords?" Milo asked. He mimicked swinging swords around his head.
"Yes. Ed with swords. He go too."
"Hell yeah," Sam said. "He's one bad dude."
"That's a full chopper," Harbinger said. He glanced down at his watch. "Hurley's team is due to hit Pensacola shortly. Boone's en route to Gadsden. Scramble the others as needed. Boss, Dorcas, shuffle the Newbies off to any teams that are shorthanded. It's all yours. This is it. For you Newbies who have not fought yet. Don't worry, you've been trained. You know what to do. Stick with your team leads, and do what they tell you. You'll be fine. Now let's go to work. The world is counting on us."
"Good luck, everyone," Julie said. "You know what to do."
"I taught you guys how to fight. Don't screw up," Sam ordered the Newbies. Everyone stood up from the table and began to disperse. He shouted one last set of instructions for his parting charges. "And if the going gets tough, and you get the urge to quit, just remember that we get paid real good for this shit!"
"We finish this today," Harbinger stated to no one in particular.
I hoped so. It was Thursday morning. Friday night was the full moon and the end of the world. I wondered if I would still be alive to see it.
I waited for Julie in the hallway, standing nervously in front of the wall of memorial plaques. A bright new one had been set on the wall for Jerry Roberts. I was wearing my full armor, festooned with weapons and ammunition. I was ready for war.
But I was not ready for what I needed to do next.
Julie strode down the hall, also fully armed for battle. Her M14 was slung over one shoulder, and a row of sharpened stakes was lashed to her webbing. Her long hair had been tied up beneath her hockey helmet, and she had replaced her glasses with shatterproof prescription goggles. She was angry and determined, and no vampires or cursed conquistadors were going to stand in her way.