Blood and Silver - 04 (25 page)
Read Blood and Silver - 04 Online
Authors: James R. Tuck
If I used my power to save him, then Sophia, her unborn babies, and Tiff would die.
Time pressed down on my shoulders.
34
I tossed my car keys to Father Mulcahy. He caught them from the air. “Go. Get the Comet and get him medical attention.”
“You could be killing him with that decision.”
“If I choose him, I could be killing Tiff and Sophia.” I stared into his eyes; they were stark in the mask of blood smeared across his face. “Go.”
The priest stared at me. I stared back, deep inside the cold place that lets me kill.
Boothe began to choke, his body convulsing. A grand mal seizure twisted his burnt body, pulling it tight and bowing it off the ground beneath him. Father Mulcahy broke the stare to cut his eyes over at the dying Were-rabbit.
“My decision’s made. This is on your hands now.”
Father Mulcahy looked back at me. “Take the air rifle.” He held it out to me.
We both had to get moving, so I didn’t argue. The rifle was slung over my shoulder and the extra clip of palm-sized darts shoved into a pocket. I pulled one of my .45’s out and handed it to Father Mulcahy. His mouth opened for a second and I gave him a look that closed it. The priest set off at a run back toward the community center and the car without a backward glance.
I turned to the group. “Charlotte, Ragnar, you’re with me.”
“Are you sure about this?” Charlotte was kneeling beside Boothe. The seizure had passed and he lay still on the grass. Her hand kept fluttering toward him and then away, unsure of whether to touch him or not as she looked up at me.
“Get up.” My voice was flat, without emotion or inflection. Charlotte rose to her feet. “Father Mulcahy and Kat will take care of Boothe; our people still need rescuing. Nobody else can do it.” I turned without waiting to see if she would follow.
My chest hit Marcus’s as he stepped in front of me. The nerve under my right eye started to twitch.
“I am coming with you. I need to make up for what my mate and my brother have done.” Big amber yellow eyes were brimming with sincerity, begging for permission. One moist hand lay limply on my gun arm. All my frustration with delays focused in on him like a laser. I drove my shoulder into him, pushing past, moving him aside.
“Follow if you want, but don’t slow me down. The next time you get in my way, I
will
put a bullet in you.” He fell in behind Charlotte as I moved toward the burning porch, my stride getting longer as I walked. Ragnar trotted beside me.
will
put a bullet in you.” He fell in behind Charlotte as I moved toward the burning porch, my stride getting longer as I walked. Ragnar trotted beside me.
Dark orange flames ate at the porch, chewing the white painted wood and licking across vinyl siding to leave long streaks of soot and trails of heat bubbles behind. Napalm dripped from the overhead covering onto the wooden porch in scorching streamers. Heat slammed into me like a fist as I hit the bottom step. The air was thick, oxygen eaten away by the flame. My hip ached. I pushed on.
The door to the house was solid blackness wrapped in fire. I had one shot to get through that door. We were going to get burned, but if we stopped on that porch, we wouldn’t make it off. The heat would sap our strength, driving us down so that the flame could finish us off.
The wood under my feet was spongy, threatening to crumble with each footfall. The two lycanthropes lay spread in the center of the porch. The napalm and heat had liquefied them, turning them into puddles of Were lava. I pushed off the balls of my feet, my thighs flexing to shove me into a jump. The second I committed my stomach dropped. I knew I was not going to make it across. My boot heel struck the edge of the puddle, splashing the mixture of napalm and liquefied lycanthrope up the back of my leg.
It felt like someone threw boiling acid across my calf.
The muscle clenched, locking in a knot, drawing up tight with hot agony. I stumbled forward, falling the rest of the distance. My shoulder crashed into the door. It sagged but held. Blackness swirled on the edge of my vision. Lungs burning from lack of oxygen, I drove forward, bashing against the door again. My rib pulled and stabbed. The door buckled under my weight and I fell into the house, slamming onto the hardwood floor.
My leg was on fire, smoldering holes were being eaten into my jeans, my boots, my skin. Frantically, I beat at the flames. Ragnar landed beside me, nails digging into the dark mahogany finish of the floor. His wolf coat was singed on one side down to the skin. He began to lick at one paw, then the other, swollen blisters on the pads breaking, running like egg yolks full of saltwater. Charlotte flew into the room with a leap that carried her past Ragnar. Smoke swirled off her as she crouched, heaving in air. One long angry slash of burn cut across her shoulder and chest. It looked like a drip of napalm she hadn’t avoided. It looked like my leg.
Marcus fell inside, dreads singed, little swirls of smoke rising off them. His once butter crème shirt was dingy gray with soot, matching the charcoal gray slacks. He had shifted, clawed hands jutting out the ends of his sleeves. His face was a lion’s, surrounded by a smoldering mane made of the same tiny dreads he wore as a man. His fur was a light honey color, short and tight against his skin. He was a smoother, lighter, tamer version of his brother.
He grabbed the door in taloned hands and pushed, shutting out the inferno on the porch. The backdraft through the house caught it closing, slamming it loudly.
“There goes the element of surprise for the second time, asshole.” I looked at my leg before scrambling to my feet. It was ugly. The burn was an abstract pattern across my skin. Half-dollar–sized blisters already swelled over red, cracked skin with blackened bits scattered through. It hurt, not as bad as it looked, which was a bad sign. It meant there was damage below the nerve level, third-degree burn level. I would have that scar for the rest of my life.
The boot was ruined. It had protected my leg from the worst of the splash and had suffered for it. Black leather was eaten away and the heel was dissolved on the back half. They would get me through this, but then they were done. Regret cut through me. I had worn these boots for years. They had been a gift from my wife. The loss panged inside me, hurting worse than the burn on my leg.
I pushed it away and stood up.
A deep breath pulled clean cool air into my lungs. Inside the house it was quiet and peaceful. Orange light from the flames on the porch flickered across the hardwood from under the door. Exhaustion dropped on me like a wet towel. I just wanted to lay down, sink to the floor, and close my eyes. My bones ached. My joints were swollen and stiff. My skin felt like it had been scrubbed raw by a steel brush. I wanted to rest. I wanted to lay down. In that moment, for a split second, I wanted to quit.
I pictured Tiff and Sophia. They were somewhere below me. I could see them, terrified in the hands of my enemies. Hurt and afraid. Hoping someone would come to save them.
Hoping I would come to save them.
I started walking through the house, looking for the door to the basement.
The air rifle was gone, lost somewhere on the porch. I didn’t remember it falling, but it was gone. The .45 filled my hand with a comforting weight as it slid from its holster. I held it out front as I moved through the house opening doors and searching. Each closet I opened pushed that sea of rage closer and closer to spilling over inside me.
My hand twisted the knob on a door in the kitchen. It opened on oiled hinges. Steps disappeared down into darkness. Cool air pushed up, the smell of earth clean in my nostrils. It was pitch-black down there. My fingers found the switch on the wall. It flicked up with a tiny click. Light sputtered to life somewhere out of sight in the basement below, spilling across the bottom of the stairs, which ended in front of a wall, the space to either side of them cluttered with boxes and used junk. I stood, listening, ears straining to hear anything.
Softly, low and near silent, I heard a moan.
A female moan.
Gun in hand, I started down the stairs, stepping carefully, being wary. The other three gathered around the doorway, watching me descend, waiting for the okay to follow. Each step took me farther down, each step deeper into the hole. Each step strained my calf, weakening it, threatening to dump me down the stairs. My neck was tight.
Taking another step, I lowered my foot slowly, the sole of my boot sinking, falling, to land on the wooden step. A creak cut through the silence, drawing the muscles in my lower back into a web of tension. My hand clenched tight to the grip on my gun, holding on as sweat slicked my palm.
The stairs were torn out from under me, wood splintering with a sharp snap. Stomach clenched, I hung in the air for one thought before crashing.
Oh shit.
35
Tiny shards of glass cut across my upper back. Something had broken inside the box I crashed into and the pieces were cutting me. I flailed about, trying to get up. Something tangled across my legs, pulling me. Tripping me.
Christmas lights. A strand of Christmas lights were wrapped around the shredded boot.
A shadow loomed over me, blocking the light. My power sparked. Cold, wet, and salty from a place that never saw sunlight, pressed in against my skin. Hunger filled me, gnawing away at my insides. The feel of rough skin scraping. It was the Were-shark.
He was mostly human but still monstrous as he hunched over in the shortened space of the basement. Light from the single yellow bulb gleamed off his unnaturally pale bald head. His eyes were glossy black, mouth stretched wide with too many teeth in too many rows. Arms the size of my thighs reached down to grab me.
My hand was empty. The Colt .45 had skittered out of my grip when I crashed and was laying on the concrete floor of the basement. It mocked me over by the hot water heater—shiny, deadly, and out of reach. My knees banged into the concrete floor as I scrambled for it. I ignored the pain, moving to get the gun before I was caught unarmed. I threw my hand out toward the pistol.
Reaching.
Stretching.
Just
touching the grip, metal and ivory cool under the pads of my fingers. Something thin cut across my calf, shooting fire through the burns, pulling tight. Yanking me away.
touching the grip, metal and ivory cool under the pads of my fingers. Something thin cut across my calf, shooting fire through the burns, pulling tight. Yanking me away.
The Colt lay unmoved by the water heater as I was dragged back across the floor.
Twisting, I saw the Were-shark had the Christmas lights in his hands and was using them to reel me back to him like a fish on a line. I dug the heel of my boot in, trying to stop myself. The wire of the lights cut in deeper, my boot heel slipped and I was sliding again.
Looking up into the doorway where the stairs used to be, I saw Charlotte. She was frozen, one hand over her mouth, body shaking. Fear rolled off her in palpable waves. I could see terror stamped on her every feature. She wasn’t coming to help.
I reached up for the katana, bracing myself for its invasion of my mind.
A flash of silver fur struck the Were-shark in the back. Ragnar dug in, nails sinking into skin. With a snarl, canines sank into the Were-shark’s throat, blood running scarlet from the old Werewolf’s snout as he held on.
The Were-shark roared out in pain. He let go of the Christmas lights and I scrambled away. The monster reached behind him. One gigantic webbed hand closed on the thick ruff of fur on Ragnar’s neck. Bending sharply and yanking, the Were-shark tore Ragnar off his back and swung him out in front. The ancient Werewolf hung like a pup, claws flailing the air, jaws snapping, bloody spittle slinging everywhere. The Were-shark’s other hand swung back and crashed into Ragnar’s skull. The Werewolf went limp, legs twitching as they hung loose. The great white’s back loomed at me as he turned, drawing Ragnar up to that horrible maw. Blood began to gush, spattering the concrete between his feet. Wet, gnawing sounds filled the basement.
I stood up with the Colt in my hand.
My finger jerked against the trigger, stitching holes in that broad, inhuman back. Seven bullets struck like magic. Blood spurted out, thick like syrup. The Were-shark dropped Ragnar in a heap but did not fall. He turned toward me, slowly. My thumb hit the magazine release, dropping the spent clip to the floor. I had my last one in my hand. It slid home with a click. The Were-shark stood facing me. My thumb hit the slide release, clacking it forward and locking a bullet in the chamber. I pointed the pistol at him, laser cutting through the gray haze of cordite in the air and dancing on his chest.
“Where are the girls?”
His voice was a choke, wet and thick from that too-wide mouth with too many teeth. “Leonidas has the dog-bitch.”
“Are they in the tunnels?”
He nodded.
“Where’s the human girl?”
Those black eyes rolled to the right. There was a room, walls unfinished, door framed in but not hung. Inside that room were two things: a steel door in a blank wall and Tiff laying on the ground.
She was a sprawl of limbs. Black and pink hair swirled around her face. The coveralls were ripped into rags; her shirt was torn to shreds.
I couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
Turning my eyes back to the Were-shark, I looked at him through a tunnel of blood-red hatred. My teeth hurt as they ground together.
“Is she alive?”
“She was before you showed up.”
Desire to shoot him burned in me. My knuckles creaked around the grip of the Colt.
“Why are you still here and not with Leonidas?”
“I am the rear guard. I kill you and let him and his new mate get away. The girl was left for me as a reward.” A pink stump of a tongue swirled around that lipless maw, leaving an obscene trail of saliva. “She looks yummy.”
“You were planning on eating her?”
Massive shoulders shrugged dismissively. “I still am. After I’m done with her.” He looked up at where Charlotte stood above, still frozen. “Maybe for dessert I will have some of your spider friend. Remember what I did to you last time, little spider?” Charlotte cringed away from his tooth-filled grin, moving out of my sight. “This time I will do so much more to you.”
My finger squeezed the trigger.
The boom of the gunshot drowned out his scream of pain. Blood shot out of the hole I put in his chest, spilling into the air and down his shirt. He staggered back from the shot but still did not fall. Eight silver bullets in him and he still did not fall.
“That hurt, you bastard!” Blood slicked webbed fingers as he touched the wound. “You are going to pay for that and for what you did last time.” The smell of brine filled my nostrils and that saltwater cold splashed over me as he began to change. His head pulled to a triangle and his neck spread out joining to his shoulders like clay being molded. A gray dorsal fin ripped his skin to jut from his back. His voice began to rasp as he screamed at me. “I had to have those damned bullets
cut
out of me!” His voice choked off as gills split on his neck and he lost his ability to talk.
cut
out of me!” His voice choked off as gills split on his neck and he lost his ability to talk.
He turned into the monster that had nearly killed Charlotte. A hulking beast that should never be seen on land. A nightmare of teeth and murder. A killing machine. He had taken eight silver bullets and was still coming to kill me. My power was wild and out of control as his lycanthropy washed over me. I was choking on the taste of saltwater as he charged me.
I dove to my left, crashing into a workbench, tools clattering down around me. I fired a shot, missing the Were-shark and hitting the water heater. A fine spray of hot water shot out, covering the floor in slick wetness. The Were-shark turned, black eye rolling to find me. The awful sucking sound of its breathing was loud in my ears as I scrambled to my feet, slipping on the growing puddle of hot water. An idea formed in my head.
Pointing down, I fired two shots into the Were-shark’s crotch.
Blood burst onto the floor as he fell to his knees. Head back, his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. Monster or not, he was still enough man for that to hurt.
But it wouldn’t kill him. He was too strong. His skin was too thick. I didn’t have enough bullets to kill him, and I did not want to use the katana again so soon. I walked over, grabbed him by the fin, and shoved my hand into his gill slits. It was wet and sticky against my fingers, like thick jelly.
My power welled up inside me from the contact, moving down my arm and into his lycanthropy. I pushed in farther, driving my power into him. Saltwater choked me. My nostrils burned with it. Cold settled deep inside me. The shark in him was swimming near the surface, silent and hungry. I pulled it closer and pushed my power in deeper. It was close to the technique I had used to save Charlotte before, but I was looking only inside this one lycanthrope.
My mind translated my power into a visual and I found the cords that tied the beast to the man. I reached out for them, sorting them. His shark turned teeth on me, trying to throw me out. Metaphysically I yanked one of the cords and the shark folded in half, then swam away. I looked with determination, knowing it would be back in a thought.
The shark turned, swimming back toward me. Its mouth yawned open as it picked up speed with great sweeps of its tail. My power found the cord I was looking for and closed around it. The shark struck, slashing pain through my guts as I pulled and twisted the cord that tied the Were’s lungs to his gills. With my power I could see his lungs shrink like tumors destroyed by radiation as gills took over their function. They yawned open wide to drag oxygen from water.
Water that didn’t exist in the basement.
The connection was broken with a sharp pain that drove me across the room and crashed me into a dryer.
I shook my head, trying to clear it from using my power. Pain echoed deep inside my body; my guts filled with glass shards of it from the metaphysical shark strike as I stood. Bracing on the dryer, I got my feet under me.
The Were-shark writhed on the floor, thrashing around and clawing at his gills. One giant foot crashed into a table that had power tools on it, dumping them on his legs. A moist flapping sound came from the gill slits opening and closing desperately. Black eyes rolled, white skein clicking across them like a camera shutter.
I turned away. It would take him hours to die, suffocating slowly unless the house burned down on him. I didn’t care. Carefully putting one foot in front of the other, I walked to where Tiff lay. Still, so still, no movement in her at all.
Dread grew with every footstep.
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