Chapter 7:  In the Land of the Blind...

“Omigod!  Omigod. I see us!”

“What?  Are you sure?”

Andrew Wells was staring at a point on the ground about six feet away, duckfooted and wobbling, his blind eyes glowing like stars.  The little weenie still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the whole “remote seeing” thing.  The last time Giles woke up, he got so dizzy he fell flat on his little dungeon-mastering butt.

“Yep!” he cried. “Yeah, that’s totally us… Hi, us!”  He waved his hand furiously.

Xander squinted up at the old, creepy castle on the hill.

Why is it always the old, creepy castle on the hill? he thought.  Just for once, he wished it could be the old, creepy beach resort on the hill.  Or even the old, creepy ski lodge on the hill.  It was all just getting to be so predictable.

It’d been a long hike in from the Romanian border.  They had to ditch the Land Rover at the crossing. Kennedy’s crew had taken up positions in a network of abandoned bunkers in the foothills of the Carpathian mountains.  It was slow going whenever Andrew’s Watcher-vision kicked in, but they’d still managed to make pretty good time in the past hour.  Maybe his luck was finally changing?

When Wells had first called, Xander was sure it was a really bad joke.  He couldn’t believe that Giles would pledge the little spazz into the Council, let alone make him an 'Eye.

'But the timing was all so accurate. The Official Council Know-it-Alls lost the Watcher and his kidnappers in Italy.  Apparently there was some kind of freak car accident.  Witnesses placed Riley Finn on the scene, but Xander just couldn’t buy that the government would get into bed with Kennedy’s little Lipstick Revolution.  Then again, with all the zany, madcap intrigue these days, the only thing Xander was completely sure of was that he couldn’t trust anyone, anymore.

Not anyone.  Except for Andrew Wells, somehow.

It was hard being around him, and not just for all the usual, annoying reasons. 

Shock of the Millenium Number Two: Andrew (Andrew Wells!) was actually competent, for once, and had pieced together most of the clues all by his lonesome.  Heck, the little nerdlinger taped all his visions, on one of those Official Replica Star Trek Annoying Swoosh Badge Thingees™.  And amid the pubescent maze of “Stargate SG-1” references, he even managed to glean some useful intel.  Pretty amazing stuff, all things considered.  Andrew Wells, ladies and gentlemen!

Their first clue was the watch: Giles' oh-my-god, zillion-dollar custom Rolex.  It had a certain feature that the Watcher would brag about endlessly with a few brandy's in him, but that only a true uber-nerd like Andrew would ever pay attention to, let alone remember.  Giles called it “real-time.”

Instead of using time-zones like a normal, non-Geeked-Out Superwatch, the Rolex maintained a link with a GPS satellite which measured the wearer’s exact meridian at any given moment in time.  So if Giles was traveling from, say, London to Moscow, instead of just jumping ahead a few hours at each time zone, the hands would register a smooth gradient of time, displaying his exact temporal position relative to Greenwich, England.

None of which made much sense to anyone other than Rupert Giles, of course. But the upshot was that they could narrow down his position to a single degree of longitude based on the hands of the watch in his visions. That head start, coupled with the various terrain features and road signs that Giles had managed to glimpse along the way, had led them quickly to southern Romania. And then to the woods.

And then, to the creepy old castle, on the hill.

“Can you see anyone else? What happened to that guard?”

“Wow, we look so tiny down here! I think we’ll have to climb some stairs.”  As he spoke, Andrew’s horizontal started drifting vertical, wheeling like a top.

Xander cocked his M-14.  It was a sturdy infantry model, hardly ever jammed.  That was important.

“Hey,” he said, and clapped the boy’s shoulder.  Andrew turned to face him, his creepy WatcherVison eyes a thousand silver miles away. “Listen up, little buddy.   You… you done good.  But, you're sittin’ this play out.”

His face twisted, heartbroken. “No!  I can help!  Really. I can be like your reverse-lookout man.  Or, something.”  It suddenly seemed like he might cry.  “I have to help…”

“You have, man.  We’d be lost without you.  Dead in the water.  But it’s gonna get rough.  Like, real rough. These girls are killers. And with Giles awake, you’d just be flying blind in there.”

“Well” he whimpered. “What if they knock him out again?  Everybody’s always knocking him out, right?”

Xander sighed. Before he could think better of it, he pulled his 9mm from his shoulder rig, pressed it into Andrew’s palm. “Alright listen. Here’s the plan.” He studied the landscape. “Can you see a pile of rocks over to the left… err, the right of the clearing?”

Andrew seemed to calm down a bit, snorting back a glob. “Yeah, I think so,” he said.

“Well, we’re gonna hide you over by those rocks.” He felt Andrew tense up. “Just for right now!  I’m gonna close for some recon, see if I can sniff a way inside. But as soon as Giles gets knocked out again, that’s your cue.”

Andrew fondled the gun blindly. “My cue to what.”

“To storm the gates, my man. To storm the freakin’ gates.”

***

The keep was pretty small for a mysterious, forbidden vampire fortress.  Xander’s depth perception was, of course, fairly sucky, but it still seemed to him that a top-secret lair like friggin’ Castle Dracula should have been more, well, cool.  In the afternoon sun, the walls looked grungy, made up of the kinda reddish, kinda grayish stone that seemed to peel off in places like the stucco on a suburban townhouse. It was sad, the way people just let big houses go to crap.  He bet himself that they didn’t even use copper piping for the plumbing. That was so important for these older country homes.

There seemed to be only a few guards on duty. Three of them ringed the parapets in a classic Thurman formation: northeast, east, southwest. If they followed the drill, the strong forward guard would rotate thirty degrees, and the weak front would sweep thirty five. They were like the hands of two crazy, overlapping clocks; a movement was meant to give everybody the widest possible angle of vision ninety percent of the time. He just had to wait for that ten percent slice of pie to arrive...

Hang on a minute.

Is she on a cell phone?

The girl on the western watch was blabbing away like a tween at a slumber party.  Her name was Cassidy Something.  He vaguely remembered her from the Cleveland days.  Cass was one of those ditzy, self-absorbed types, the kind of girl that always ignored him in high school when he asked to borrow a pencil – and sometimes he really did need a pencil!

Anyway, he couldn’t believe they would put a bonehead like Cassidy on guard duty. Xander wouldn’t have trusted that skank with a mop and bucket.  He decided that Kennedy really had to learn thing or too about discipline if she was going to give this whole conquering-the-world thing a shot.

Moving low under the shadows, Xander slid back the safety on the rifle and rounded towards the half-crumbled wall beside the gates.  It was about twenty five feet to the ledge; an easy climb if he could snag the hook somewhere good. In a single-fluid motion, he slid the grappler out of his backpack and flung it in a high arc over the wall. As soon as the metal claw sailed out of view, he felt a dull, wet thunk.  The rope stiffened in his hand.

First try, he mused.  Not bad, General Harris.  Or should I say, ‘Captain Hook,’ yarrghh!

No.

No, I really shouldn’t.

He pulled the line taut and gave it a few sharp tugs.  It seemed steady enough on the climb, although he thought he could hear something like a low, lonesome moan whenever he leaned back too hard.

Jeez, he thought.  This place is really falling apart!

At the ledge, he twisted himself over the top, commando-style!

And landed smack in a puddle of dead demon.  The hook sticking out of its gray face reminded him of a big ugly carp.

Okay, he mused. If anybody ever asks, you t-o-o-o-tally meant to do that.

The courtyard below was full of Slayers of all shapes and sizes, as well as dozen or more clones of the extremely unlucky demon he was standing on. They seemed to be in the middle of a training session.

He recognized Kennedy snaking through the ranks, barking commands like a shorter, brattier version of General George Patton R.I.P.  She was less then a hundreds yards out. Xander was pretty sure he could nail her from here.  He was equally sure that if he did, her minions would be all over him in a heartbeat.

The central keep was his best bet, he thought. He dropped on dirt behind a line of parked jeeps, crept silently along the eastern rim, keeping his eye fixed on the trainees in the yard. Then it was a quick, jittery dash to the tower’s wide arching entrance. If his luck held, Ken had Buffy and Giles stashed there, maybe with a few more total rejects like Cassidy watching them.  Not that it mattered much.  Xander wrote the book on Slayer military tactics.  Literally.  They wouldn’t know what hit them.

Suddenly, something hit him. He didn’t know what.

He looked up. About thirty feet up the spire, he could just barely make out the face of Rupert Giles beaming down at him. He seemed to have gotten free of his ropes. Pale fingers wiggled out through the bars in the window.  Xander made a hush sign with his hand, motioned for him to duck back down. But the old guy seemed a little out of it, just kept wiggling and smiling.

Taking a deep breath, he dove for the entrance, rolling ten feet down the corridor and out of sight. Blood thundering, he flew up the wide stone stairwell, one finger sagging against the rifle’s trigger. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.

The third landing opened out into a broad, modern hallway. The exposed lighting fixtures spoke of a work-in-progress. The gals were settling in for the long haul, he guessed. The height felt about right, but he was a bit disturbed by the lack of a welcoming committee.  At the far end of the hall was a large steel door with a grate in it, exactly like Andrew described in his last vision.

Xander made his move, more cautiously this time. He peered into the grate sideways.  “Giles.” He whispered.

The Watcher rose gamely from his chair to meet him, tossing aside a shredded rope along the way.

“Mr. Harris. Lovely to see you, again.”

Xander frowned.  “You spit on me.”  The Watcher cracked a wry smile. “Look, this door doesn’t seem to have a keyhole or knob or anything.  How do they get you in and out?”

“I don’t know.  Haven’t been out yet, actually.”

Xander felt along the seams.  There was a soft square of gel near the right edge, like a transparent sticker. He could see the very vague outline of a hand on its surface, and took care not to touch it. “Okay,” he said. “It, uh, looks like one of those fingerprint sensor thingamajigs.”

“That’s the technical term for it, is it?”

“Don’t get shirty!” Xander said.  “I’ll be right back. But first, I’m going to have to get me a hostage.”

He turned to leave. “Wait,” Giles gasped. “It’s too dangerous, Xander. There’s too many of them.”

Xander stiffened his jaw. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, G.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Giles stammered, looking for all the world like a man who was about to spare his feelings. “It’s just that, if you could find a way to get Faith and the others inside we could seize the whole bloody…”

He looked away sheepishly.

“You did bring the Slayers, didn’t you?”

“Well, no. Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly.”

“I mean ‘not exactly’ as in no, absolutely not!”  Xander felt his resolve sink in again. “It’s not like it’s exactly easy to know who to trust lately. Couldn’t take the risk.”

Giles chuckled in astonishment. “So, let me see if I have this right:  You didn’t want to take the risk of bringing any army of superheroes to fight another army of superheroes. So you instead elected to storm a castle with an antique rifle?  And positively no backup whatsoever?”

“Well,” Xander muttered. “That’s not entirely true.”

Giles stared at him, genuinely puzzled.

“Listen, I think it’s about time you turned off your eyeball cam, Giles. I got this feeling he’s falling down again.”

***

Ouch. Stupid rocks.

Now that Giles was walking around, all tall and everything, it was getting harder and harder for Andrew to figure out how high he was off the ground. He decided to sit down instead, and prayed none of the evildoers could see him.

Xander was waving his arms at Giles now and pointing at the floor. What was he saying?  It looked like Say, how are you?  Or maybe he was saying “stay.”  But that didn’t seem right either, especially since Giles was already locked up in a jail cell, and chances were he wasn’t feeling very good about that. Then Xander disappeared for a few seconds, and when he came back he had a little piece of paper in his hands. Giles got real close so he could read it. It said: ‘Stay right there. Do not move.’

Oh God, he thought, finally understanding.  Giles has gone deaf.

What have those animals done to him?

Then, suddenly the whole scene snapped off, and he was back in the woods.  Alone.

He tried to force himself to stop freaking out, but it was hard.  Poor Giles had gotten knocked out again, just when he was trying so hard to “stay right there” and “not move.”  He didn’t want to be too critical of his B.F.F Xander Harris, but Andrew knew that if he saw some evil type person sneaking up on Giles to clunk him on the head, he would have probably written him something like: “Move around, Giles! A lot!”

Well, I suppose it’s up to me, then. Andrew studied the gun. He was vaguely satisfied that he’d seen enough rap videos to know how it worked. First he had to ‘rack the slide’ or something.  He fiddled with the shiny thing on top until it clicked into place, and smiled.

Ready for my attack run, Gold Leader.

Let’s rock.

Clutching the weapon in both hands like those guys on TV, Andrew danced out from behind the rock pile and then broke into a wild, terrified gallop. He tried to shout the Klingon battle cry of Kalarf’hi, but all that would come out was a sort of high-pitched moan.

He was almost to the top of the hill when he fell, again. Except this time, instead of just bonging his forehead and feeling dizzy like usual, Andrew just kept right on falling down; down and down, as though the ground had just disappeared from under him. It felt like a long time before he stopped again. Luckily he landed on a big mound of something that was soft and kind of squishy. It also smelled a little like a farm. He wondered what it was.

The place he fell into was very cramped and very dark. Torches hung along all the walls and everything looked like it had been in a really bad fire or something. There were shadows and spooky dripping sounds everywhere he turned.

Okay. Calm down, he thought. This is good, Andrew. You’ve found a secret entrance or something.
Just as you planned.

Cautiously, he slid off of the friendly brown mound and tip-toed down a long, wide corridor. He got pretty excited when he saw the jail cells. They were spaced pretty evenly along the length of the passageway.   Kind of like the prison chambers on the original Death Star, except that these ones down here also smelled a little like a farm.

Then, as he swung his gun into the open doorway of the third cell, he saw something that shocked him to his very core.

It was him. Cyborg-man. The same one he saw in his very first vision, ever. The ‘bot was chained to the wall with large steel manacles, his knees dangling limply a few inches from the ground. It seemed very still, as though it were sleeping. The mask it wore now was slightly different than the one in the tunnel. Instead of glass, this one was full of ridges and tiny metal spikes, just like the rest of his totally awesome outfit. It looked like it wasn’t on quite right.

“Omigod,” he said, his voice quavering. “It’s you.”

He approached the figure slowly, feeling the orchestra swell up inside him again. He cocked his head and squinted at the dark being, dangling his pistol at his side. He tried to imagine how cool he must’ve looked at that moment, and suddenly wished that he had remembered to bring his camera-phone.

“So. We finally meet,” he said. “Here. In this… um, place.” He took a swaggering step forward.

“Andrew?” croaked the black Borg.  Its deep voice was strange and mechanical, with just a hint of a British accent.  Andrew felt his heart squeezing up into his neck.

“Oh wow,” he managed in between rapid breaths.  “Oh, wow, you know my name?!”

“Andrew,” the voice said, weakly.  “Help me take… this… mask off.”

The world seemed to stand still.  Andrew straightened, nodded solemnly.  “I understand,” he whispered.  “You want to look on me…with… your own…eyes.”

“No, you git!” it barked back.  “The damned thing is turned backwards.  Can’t see a bloody thing.”

“Spike? Is that you in there?”

“No, it’s the Queen of Bloody Hearts!”  The head tilted towards the sound of Andrew’s voice.  “Of course it’s me. Now, shut your gob and help me get it off, yeah?”

“Uh. How?”

“There’s a latch or something back there.  You… you kind of have to feel around for it.”

Andrew probed the helmets’ surface until he found a small, round ring. Instinctively, he pulled it up and twisted. Something popped out sideways at the collar, and there was a sound like someone opening a giant can of Pepsi.

“That’s a lad. Now, give us a good hard pull.”

Andrew gripped the place where the ears should’ve been and yanked with both hands.  The helmet came off with a short, shrill pop. The vampyre’s familiar face peered up at him, the shock of perfect platinum hair slightly mussed from the effort.

“Thanks,” said Spike.

***

“It’s really you!” the boy shrieked, wrapping the vampire up in his great, girly noodle-arms. “How did you get here? What’re you doing chained up?  Is Buffy okay?  Where did they put Giles?  Have you seen Xander?”

“Andrew,” Spike whispered patiently.

“Why are you in a space suit?  Does Buffy know you’re alive now? I never told her, you know, ‘cause you said not to that one time, you remember?  Do you think she’ll be mad?  How are we gonna find her? And Xander? And Gi-”

“Andrew,” Spike said, less patiently.

“Sorry.  Sorry.  Sorry.  Sorry.”

Spike waited for the boy to stop fidgeting.  It was getting very difficult for him to speak.  “Listen…to me closely, and for God’s sake don’t interrupt.  I have to… break loose these chains.  But I’m not strong enough. Haven’t eaten in a good, long time.”

Andrew bit his lip.  “Well, I did have half a peanut butter sandwich I was saving for lunch, but then Xander and me had to walk a lot farther than we thought, and then we found this secret pass in the mountains but it was really, really, really steep and Xander was like ‘We totally can’t do that’ and I was like ‘We totally have to try’ and then while we were climbing…”

“Andrew!” Spike shouted.  “Focus, son. I’m a vampire.  I don’t need peanut butter sandwiches, right?”

“Oh.  Yeah, right,” Andrew said, nodding his head.  A very faraway look came into his eyes.  “Oh,” he shouted, and instantly cupped one hand over his mouth.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.  ‘Fraid so, dodger.”

The boy just stood there for a moment, studying his shoes.  “No. I’m the one that’s sorry,” he intoned.  “Just do me one favor.  Tell them.  How it happened, I mean.  Tell them what I did here today.”

He could hear the wee wanker’s rabbit-like heartbeat.  It sounded like someone was starting up a toy airplane.  Trembling, the boy turned and knelt beside him, nuzzled his head against the vampire’s chest.  It lolled dramatically to one side, exposing the palest, scrawniest, most uniformly unappetizing neck he’d every seen in his life.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.  “Take me.”

Spike rolled his eyes.  “Um.  A world of no,” he said.  Andrew blinked up at him.  “Think the wrist will suffice, thanks very much.”

“Right, yeah, mmm-hmm, sure,” Andrew sputtered, and leapt to his feet.  The boy seemed relieved.  Mostly.  There was a long, somewhat awkward silence that needed some breaking.

“Right, so, um.  Best get on with it then, yeah?”

“Yeah, um, I guess so.” Andrew rolled up his sleeve, stuck his arm out timidly in front of the vampire’s pale lips.  Spike noticed a small shiver run up the boy’s frame when he felt his game face come on.  He lurched forward sharply, sniffing for the vein.

“Spike, wait.”

“What is it now?”

“When you're done, will I… will I have superpowers?”

“Dear God,” said Spike.  “I hope not.”