"Laura Caxton. Trooper."

Captain Suzie smiled. "I know exactly who you are. We've all been briefed about that vampire kill you pulled off over on Route 322. The Commissioner made us go over all the details. Today's trip should be a little less hairy, considering we've got good daylight conditions and the extra precautions we're taking, but I'm still glad to have you along. You want to get started?" The four of them finished suiting up and ran through an equipment and weapons check. They'd been issued M4 carbines, military-grade a.s.sault rifles with underslung shotgun attachments. Caxton also carried her Beretta, loaded up with cross points. The others had their own personal weapons-combat knives, revolvers, tear gas and smoke grenades. The ART had a little lat.i.tude, it seemed, in how they kitted out for an operation. Together they headed up, out of the locker room of the Harrisburg HQ and down to a parking lot secluded by a line of trees. Darkness tinged the deep, rich blue of an impending dawn lay over the lot like a comforter. Arkeley waited for them there, wearing no protective gear at all, just his overcoat. It hung open and she could tell he wasn't carrying anything other than his Glock 23 with its thirteen bullets.

"Captain," he said, when they greeted him, "I'll express one more time my desire to leave this vehicle behind." He nodded his chin at a giant white truck that took up two s.p.a.ces in the parking lot. It was based on the cha.s.sis of a Humvee, Caxton thought, but it had been uparmored as if it were meant to roll through Tikrit instead of Scranton. Heavy metal plates had been welded to its doors, its hood, its roof, and all of the windows had been almost completely obscured except for small slits. Even the truck's tires had been reinforced with heavy chains. What looked like a home-made air cannon had been mounted on the roof.

"It's pretty noisy when it gets up to speed, I'll admit," Captain Suzie told Arkeley. "Are you afraid we'll wake the vampires?"

Arkeley's upper lip twitched in distaste. "No. Vampires don't sleep during the day. They literally die anew every morning. It's the half-deads I'm worried about."

Captain Suzie just shrugged. "The Commissioner gave me my orders himself. You can talk to him if you want to change the plan, but he doesn't even come in to the office until nine. I'd just as soon get on the road now." Arkeley narrowed his eyes but he nodded and stalked off toward his own car, an unmarked patrol car that looked puny by comparison.

One by one the ART climbed inside the armored vehicle. The interior was packed with so much gear and the Team members were so bulky in their riot armor that there was barely room for the four of them. Reynolds drove and DeForrest took shotgun-almost literally, since he rode with his weapon in his hands. Captain Suzie rode beside Caxton in the back seat.

A man came out of the main building, his uniform shirt unb.u.t.toned and his face unshaven. Caxton recognized the Range Officer from the less-lethal weapons test area, the one who had supplied her with her cross points. He popped open the hood of the armored vehicle and played around with the engine for a minute.

"It's the old man's baby, and he never lets it out without a personal inspection," DeForrest told Caxton, craning around in his seat to look at her, his helmet catching on the headrest of his seat and tilting over one eye. "He built the Granola Roller nearly from scratch."

"I'm guessing I'm sitting in the very same Granola Roller," Caxton said. Reynolds snorted. "Yeah. It was never really meant for hunting vampire. The old man designed it for crowd control, you know, at demonstrations and protests and riots and such. Sometimes we call it 'Extra Chunky,' too."

Caxton tried to figure it out but her fatigued brain couldn't make sense of the name. "Why's that?" she finally asked.

"Because," DeForrest said, barely able to contain his mirth, "when you run over a hippy with this thing, extra chunky is about all that's left." "Don't be gross," Captain Suzie said as DeForrest and Reynolds laughed in each other's faces. She turned to Caxton. "I'm sure that I'll have to do this about a hundred times today, but now, for the first time, I officially apologize for my men. Reynolds, have you forgotten how to drive a stick shift or are we waiting for the vampire to die of old age? Let's get moving!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Reynolds said, and he started up the armored vehicle with a noise like boulders falling down a mountainside. The Range Officer waved them off and started b.u.t.toning his shirt.

They followed Arkeley's car onto the highway and settled in for the long ride to Kennett Square, which was all the way down by the border with Delaware. The armored vehicle's groaning and grunting engine noise made it impossible to speak and be heard inside the cabin but Caxton didn't mind so much. She could barely form a coherent sentence in her head, much less make one come out of her mouth.

She had to hunch over against the door to look out the view-slit in her window, which meant exposing her bones to a constant jouncing vibration as the heavy truck ground over every minor imperfection in the roadway. Somehow she survived, though. She watched suburban lawns speed by, silver with frost and dark with fallen leaves. As they rolled out into more rural zones she let her eyes linger on the geometric regularity of farmers' fields or the shaking, surging rattle of dark tree branches that leaned close over the road.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw a death's head, and felt wriggling finger bones rattling in her hands. She saw Deanna covered in blood. She remembered what it was like to be hypnotized by a vampire, to feel as if she were drowning in death, as if the air had turned to gla.s.s and she were suspended inside of it. She reached up and touched Vesta Polder's amulet through the thick layers of nylon and kevlar of her ballistic vest.

As the sun began to climb up from behind the ridges, a lemon-colored sliver on the horizon, she began to feel a little better. She was taking action, taking up arms against the thing that was trying to kill her, which had nearly killed Deanna. Arkeley, when he heard she had requested to come along on this raid, had said absolutely not. While he had never expressly forbidden her he had thought, he told her, that he had made himself quite clear. He didn't want her endangered. He didn't think she could handle it.

She had told him about torturing a half-dead, how she had pulled the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's fingers off, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, he had come around. He'd never actually said it was alright, but he had stopped insisting she stay behind quite so strongly. It was as good as she was going to get, she knew.

They had to stop for gas outside of Lancaster. When the jumping, swaying truck finally came to a stop the ensuing quiet and calm shocked Caxton right out of

her own head. She climbed out of the Granola Roller to stretch her legs and then leaned against the side of the vehicle with Captain Suzie while DeForrest

pumped the gas. He had to unbolt a layer of armor from the truck's side to get at

the gas tank. Inside the gas station the attendant watched them with dull eyes as if he saw state troopers in full combat gear every morning. Eventually Caxton

realized he was asleep, sleeping sitting up in his chair. They were probably the first customers of his shift.

DeForrest froze, suddenly, even as Caxton was thinking about waking up the

attendant to get some snacks. The ART guy let go of the nozzle and stepped

away from the pump. He looked at Captain Suzie and without a word pointed up

at a line of trees across the highway. "Over there," he said.

"Can you confirm his sighting, Caxton?" Captain Suzie asked. Fear stuck icy knitting needles into her heart. "Confirm... what?" she asked.

She scanned the dead trees for the broken faces of half-deads, the shocking

white skin of vampires, even just for movement of any kind. Then she noticed

flecks of darkness, like pieces of shadow, swooping and darting among the trees. A smile lifted her face a little and she turned around, shaking her head. The

ART behind her had dropped to shooting crouches, their weapons up and at their

shoulders. They were deadly serious. They were terrified, and they were all