SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

Blood sprayed the walls of the corridor. Vlad had just fed, so his stomach was full of the congealed remains of his victim. The bullets ripped open Vlad’s belly like a piñata. His own guts and those of his latest victim spilled out onto the floor and he screamed. Scooping up his own intestines with one taloned hand, he stuffed them back into his stomach cavity and roared at the two men. He slithered back into the shadows, burbling and spluttering, fresh blood flowing from the dozens of wounds on his body.

“Door! Shut the door!” Flynn rolled out of the way and Micky reacted instantly, slamming the door closed once again and re-securing the bolts, lock and cross beam.

“Gary, you’re up!” Flynn scrabbled to his feet, jettisoned the empty P90 clip and replaced it with a fresh one.

Gary sprinted to the locked door and slapped two blocks of C4 on either side of the frame. He inserted a detonator into one, stretched a thin trip-wire across the door frame and into the second detonator on the opposite side. He flicked a switch on the nearest block and a small red LED light started to flash. “Door’s live. I strongly suggest not being around when it opens.”

“Okay.” Flynn helped the professor give the shelves one last shove and they toppled over. Behind was a barely visible door, coated in layers of grime and filth. Flynn looked at the door — and the very large and very shut lock. “Okay. Key? Key?”

“No key.”

“Fuck. Gary? Got any more Play Doh?”

“A little bit.”

“Blow the lock.”

“Okie dokie.” Gary pulled out a small piece of C4, rolled it into a thin sausage and inserted it into the keyhole. He pushed a detonator in and waved everyone back. “Fire in the hole!” He pressed the detonator button and turned his head away, cowering from the small but deadly explosion. The lock, made brittle by years of rust and decay, shattered and the door swung open into a cobweb-infested corridor.

“Go, go, go!” Flynn pushed Micky, the archaeologist and Gary into the passageway. He took one last look at the door. Behind it he could hear the beast snuffling and snarling again. A slow, nasty smile spread over Flynn’s face. “Come on in, fella, come right on in!” He glanced down at the cat and nodded. “You ready, Rupert?”

The calico cat stood, stretched and mewed softly. His stripy tail lifted into the air and he leapt with one bound onto Flynn’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, shall we, little guy?” Flynn turned and followed his friends into the corridor.

* * *

The Black Prince felt pain. Pain that he had never experienced before. These metal projectiles were very different from the firearms of the fourteenth and fifteenth century. They spat bullets faster than bees erupting from an overturned hive. Vlad smiled. They would be a useful addition to his new army’s arsenal. Behind the weakening oak door was not only more living food to help his body repair from its injuries, but more of these weapons too. Time to take ownership of both. He would feed on the small man with the spectacles. The others were soldiers. He appreciated their usefulness. They would be turned, infected with the venom that dripped from his mouth, to be forever compliant servants. He looked at the door, ascertaining its weakest point. The cracked central plank indicated that one more hard impact would shatter the ancient timbers. He let out a scream of delight and ran at the door.

The wood exploded and the Black Prince stood in the fragmented remains of the doorway.

A flashing red dot caught his attention and he peered at it, curious. What new experience was this? Vlad looked closer at the muddy brown block stuck to the stone arch. Inserted into its centre was a metal cylinder and the torn end of a wire.

The light stopped flashing…

* * *

Further into the tunnel a muffled ‘boom!’ and a shower of debris from rotting walls and crumbling ceilings caused the four men to stop, crouch and cover their heads with their arms. Stones and lumps of mortar clattered down and the men balled up tighter, pressing their backs against the wall.

Flynn was the first to uncurl. “Sounds like matey’s found our little gift. Let’s not wait around to find out if he’s gonna send a thank-you card. Move!” He hauled the archaeologist to his feet. “C’mon, fella, let’s get you back to the hotel for a nice hot bath and a couple of bottles of that local shit.”

“Which way?”

“Follow the cat.” The four men trotted after the little calico cat out into the main passageway — and straight into the waiting arms of a crowd of shuffling, snarling vampires.

These were Vlad’s most trusted lieutenants, whose own tombs beneath the armoury had been cracked opened by the explosion. The cat stopped, flattened its ears and hissed like an angry kettle.

Flynn brought his gun up to his shoulder and swore passionately. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me…”

The Bohemian Grove Cold War Gothic II Weston Ochse

SAN FRANCISCO

JULY 9, 1970

Afternoon