Blood and Stone by C. E. Martin Page B

place.
    As the Colonel checked another cell, Victor happened to glance ahead. He saw a dark form dart out of sight.
    “Target!” Victor hissed. He raised his weapon and activated the laser sight.
    Kenslir pushed the gun barrel down. “Relax. It’s just a ghost.”
    Victor blinked—an unnecessary action for a person who’s eyes were made of stone and didn’t need moisture. “A ghost walker? Like Daisy? I thought they were transparent?”
    Kenslir moved on, continuing to check cells. “No, a ghost. As in a dead person.”
    “There’s ghosts on Alcatraz?!”
    “Have been for years. Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you.”
    Victor felt scared—which he knew was ridiculous. He was made of living stone and could bend steel with his bare hands. “Are they the inmates?”
    “Not the most recent ones, no,” Kenslir said. They only had a few more cells to go, then they’d move on to the medical wing.
    “Inmates from before the Rock became such a super place,” Kenslir continued. “Rapists, murderers, the like.”
    “Why are they still here?”
    “Because they can’t leave.”
    “Why not?”
    Kenslir frowned. They had a mission to do. But he knew Victor was an inquisitive kid—who at twenty-one should be in college, not fighting monsters for the Army.
    “We’re surrounded by water. Ghosts can’t cross it. That’s why the Rock was chosen for the paracriminals. They can’t get out without a boat or a helicopter either.”
    “Ghosts can’t cross water?”
    “Nope. It’s stay here or move on,” Kenslir said. “And given their incarceration, unless they found Jesus, they probably wouldn’t want to move on.”
    Another thought occurred to Victor. “Are this many locked up in other countries?”
    “No. Most countries lock up their dangerous parahumans in regular prisons, or execute them. Assuming they actually have any.”
    Victor remembered more of his training. The United States had more parahumans than anywhere else in the world. A result of the melting pot of people who had emigrated to the U.S., bringing different bloodlines, and dormant Fallen genes with them.
    “What about soldiers? Like us? Are there other parasoldiers?”
    They finally reached the doors to the medical wing. Like all the other security doors in the prison, they were wide open. Tezcahtlip had strolled around, opening up whatever he wanted.
    “As far as we know, we have a monopoly on petrification,” Kenslir said, easing through the doors. A long corridor stretched beyond them. “There are some paranormal forces out there—the Russians and the Chinese in particular have large programs.”
     
    At the end of the corridor, they finally came to the door to the infirmary. Kenslir held up a finger to his lips for Victor to be quiet.
    >>>I SMELL BLOOD—LOTS OF IT<<<
    Victor took up a position beside the door, with Kenslir facing it. They paused a moment, then Kenslir lunged forward, kicking the steel door.
    The door exploded off its hinges from the kick, bent in the middle and torn free. It clanged onto the floor of the large infirmary beyond. Kenslir ran in, over the door, slightly stooped over, cheek against his rifle stock, pointing the weapon everywhere he looked as he quickly checked every corner.
    “It’s about time,” a woman gasped from the far end of the room.
    Victor was startled. Daisy had indicated no one left alive on the island.
    The survivor was slouched in a chair at the far end of the room, her green blouse torn open, a gaping wound in her chest. She wore a stained doctors coat and slacks. She had long red hair.
    And she was drinking blood from an IV bag, sucking the tube like a straw.
    “Laura?” Kenslir asked. He seemed genuinely surprised.
    “This is my office isn’t it?” the vampire said, coughing. She could barely hold herself up in her chair. She was clearly weak and barely holding on.
    In Victor’s TTV an information box sprang up beside the woman, scrolling out information on her. Laura Olson, MD.