Julius nodded. He’d have preferred to be able to use miniguns for his own ends, but as long as the bad guys couldn’t use them either, he’d take what he could get. He looked over his shoulder at the men standing behind him, hanging on to the support eyelets.

“Gun rigger, fire at will,” Biggs said, rapping out orders over the tacticom, sending them directly to each soldier’s helmet. “Mages, establish astral recon. Prepare spirits for combat. Infantry, we disembark in three.”

The Mobmaster rocked more violently as the rigger accelerated, rolling over as many land mines as he could. The Mobmaster could withstand damage that would have disabled, if not destroyed, the lighter trucks following. Explosion after explosion lit up the night, and for the first time, Julius got a good look at what they were up against.

“Holy mother of God” Julius breathed.

From behind him, he heard the gun rigger yell. “What in the hell are those things?”

Julius continued to look out the window, but said loudly. “Keep it steady. They’re just heavily modified troops. Keep a rock on back there.”

The gun rigger yelled his affirmative, sounding a bit calmer. These men had seen heavy mods on troops before, and even though the things coming toward them were so far beyond the pale they were into the black, Julius knew his men would adjust.

“Recon, give me a count!” Biggs shouted.

From inside his headset, Julius heard the rigger piloting the recon drone say, “Thirty, at least, not counting the animals. I’d say we’re running against fifty targets.”

Sounds of gunfire filled the air as the gunners at the Mobmaster’s.50 caliber guns and autocannons let go. Julius watched as the closest figure exploded, the big rounds cutting it in half and sending the two separate sections sprawling away from each other.

The Mobmaster slowed a bit as it rounded the first curve, and that was all it took.

A scream from the top gunner was the first sign that the monstrous things had managed to swarm up the back of the truck.

Julius turned to the back just in time to see a metal hand, more a collection of curved razors than a hand, slice through the Mobmaster’s armor.

“Down!” Julius shouted, lifting his chopped Remington twelve-gauge. He sighted at the metal hand’s wrist joint, and pulled the trigger.

The roar in the cabin was deafening, but the weapon’s solid-core slug took the hand off at the wrist, then flattened itself against the Mobmaster’s armored wall. The hand skittered across the floor, bouncing against one of the men’s feet. With a look of disgust, the man kicked the still twitching thing away from him.

“You all right, Charlie?” asked Riggs.

“I’m fine,” the top gunner shouted, “but you got about six stowaways weighing you down.”

Biggs]ooked at Julius, who said, “Fry them.”

“Everybody clear!” yelled Biggs, just before he stroked the small icon on the Mobmaster’s touchscreen console.

There was a crackle, and the Mobmaster’s power cut out for a moment, as ten thousand volts rippled through the vehicle’s conductive shielding.

Screams from the rear of the vehicle spoke of the shock’s effectiveness.

They made the next curve in the road, and the rigger hit the accelerator again, bringing the huge truck up to ramming speed.

Directly in front of the Mobmaster, another massive, wrought iron gate loomed five meters off the ground. Reinforced with concrete and steel girders, it looked forbidding and impenetrable.

“Trucks two through five, report,” said Julius.

“Two, rolling.”

“Three, rolling.”

“Four, rolling, but Five is gone. Request permission to back up and locate them.”

“Recon,” said Julius.

“Recon here.”

“Give me status on Citymaster Five.”

There was a pause, then, “It looks like they hit a mine, just inside the perimeter. They’re stalled, and they’ve got six targets converging.”

The gate rushed rapidly toward them as the rigger pushed the Mobmaster to its limit.

Julius spoke again. “Copy, Citymaster Four. Regroup with five and keep our back door open.”

“Brace yourselves,” said Biggs.

They hit the fence, guns blazing, the front scoop of the Mobinaster ripping through the heavy metal like it was paper.

The fence top smashed down onto the roof of the truck, cracking the bulletproof glass. Then it bounced high, describing a long arc up and to the left, where the hinges finally gave away, sending the fence flying off into the night.

Julius caught one glimpse of it, as it sheared off a light pole at the base, plunging the near area into darkness. All around them, the darkness seemed to be moving. Undulating and swaying like a field of tall black grass on a moonless night.

Julius switched his helmet to infrared. The crimson-tinged view was not much clearer, but at least now he could see them. Crowds of creatures, their IR silhouettes dim and twisted, impregnated by cold cyber.

Julius only got a glimpse, but it was enough to send fear down his spine like an icy razor.

“Recon here, Mobmaster One. It looks as if the fifty targets are getting some reinforcements from the compound.”

“Check,” said Julius. “Begin your aerial attack now. Mages, let’s turn up the heat.”

Then the things were on them.

23

Vampires feed on more than just blood: it is the actual life energy of the victim that sustains them. The bloodletting is just the simplest way to extract that life energy. As a vampire feeds, the energy that sustained the victim is transferred to the vampire, infusing him with strength and well being.

– 

Martin de Vries, Shadows at Noon, posted to Shadowland BBS, 24 May 2057

Sandman had been right. They had reached the next landing and all hell had broken loose. The runners had blasted their way through vamp after vamp, until they were almost to the top.

Just then, a huge woman who looked as if her entire body was covered with grease, and who hung by her feet from the railing above, reached down with her massive hands to grasp Rachel by the armpits and pull her upward.

Flak shouted a warning, but a moment too late. Rachel was suddenly lifted off the floor, pain wracking through her rib cage.

She looked up, wondering how this immensely fat woman could possibly be hanging that way. She didn’t have much time to wonder, because the woman opened her mouth in a vicious grin, showing stained fangs. Rachel could smell the vampire’s charnel-house breath and nearly retched.

That mouth came closer and closer, and for a moment, Rachel thought this was it. She was going to die, and she was going to let everybody down.

Rachel, the pistol! Use It!” Sinunu screamed at her.

Suddenly jerked back into focus, Rachel kicked back with her legs, which let her bring up her right arm.

The hot barrel of the Manhunter fit nicely into the vampire’s mouth.

Rachel pulled the trigger twice, then suddenly both she and the fat woman were falling back toward the stairs.

She knew she would be crushed under the woman’s huge weight, and tried to spin, tried to maneuver but it was no use.

Out of nowhere, a giant arm wrapped around her. It was Flak pulling her to his blood-soaked chest. “Gotcha,” he said, as the fat vampire hit the ground with a thud and started to roll down the stairs. De Vries stopped the body with one booted foot, as easily as if he were stopping a rolling ball.

“Nicely done dear,” said de Vries, as he drove his fist deep into the woman’s chest and pulled out her black, ichor-slick heart.

Gunfire sounded from above, and Flak was gone.

Rachel moved as fast as she could around the turn in the stairs and slipped in the dark, vampire blood covering the floor. She would have gone down, except for a strong hand catching her again. She turned, and found herself looking into the cold, dead eyes of Martin de Vries, He had a small, sad smile on his face. “Careful there. The footing is bad and going to get Worse.”