Depths: Southern Watch #2 (32 page)

Lerner caught a glimpse of Harris as he went past her window. She looked appropriately shocked, he thought.

The redhead in the passenger seat, though? Not so much. Lerner tried to decide whether that should worry him or not, and figured he’d just say fuck it all and deal with it later.

* * *

Erin watched the sedan shear off her driver’s side mirror with enough shock that it’d rival whatever the hell Tallakeet Dam generated in a day.

“He ran,” Lucia said, calm as dead. Like she was Starling.

“I saw that,” Erin said, shaking as she put the car in reverse and floored it backward. She whipped around and saw the sedan’s taillights disappearing into the curving trail, dropped the cruiser in gear and took off after him.

* * *

Gideon had forgotten the scream twice more at the top of the dam. A couple engineers were surveying cracks or something on top of the dam, watching the water roll over the top. He’d heard them scream, sure, had felt them churn as they died.

But he’d forgotten to catch a scream into his red silk bag of conjured goodness. He didn’t see anyone else on top of the dam, and he wondered how far he’d have to walk to get another. At least there was a good reason why he’d missed that last one. Something totally unexpected.

His essence was just churning now, and his skin was burning up with the heat of the souls he’d stored up. He’d never waited this long before releasing before. He hadn’t even known he could. Usually his hand went straight to his cock when death approached. That was the advantage of staying in his own apartment all the time, just watching at a distance. He was always ready for death’s approach and the gratification was instant when it arrived.

Here he’d felt something new, and as he tasted the acrid smoke on his tongue from what he’d just found out, he had to reflect … it was pretty cool. Definitely something he could use in the future. The fear and terror had been so worth it, even though it had scared the hell out of him at first.

Not as bad as that second engineer, though. Not even close.

Water was running over the top of the dam. It was big enough for a two-lane road, Gideon figured. He wondered if there had been one here at some point; it looked like there had been, faded lines under an inch of water that washed from the reservoir side to his right down the face of the dam at his left.

He had a good two or three hundred yards of walking to get to the other side of the dam, and he’d left his car behind for obvious reasons—he didn’t want it to get washed away when he set off the conjuring. Still, in the mad rush he figured he’d be able to sit on top of the dam—what was left of it—and savor the death for a while before anyone came looking for him. It’d feel good to take matters in hand once more. Let some pressure out of the system.

His shoes splashed as he walked and the ripples from the current washing down and over the face of the dam was mixed with the impact of the rain coming from above. Down below, some four hundred feet he could see the sluice gates open, the water churning white as they drained the reservoir as fast as they could. Gideon glanced back at the water streaming over the top. Not nearly fast enough, apparently.

All he needed now was a scream. Gideon breathed deep, smelled the fresh air as a thousand raindrops hit him in the face and head, and over the rush of the water he could hear a car in the distance.

He turned and saw headlights. He peered through the haze of the falling rain and realized he knew that car. It was a cop car, the one he’d seen outside his motel. The cowboy got out of the passenger side, looking fresh as a daisy. A hell of a lot better than when last he’d seen him. The black cop got out of the driver’s side, and both of them looked serious.

Gideon just smiled. He wouldn’t have to walk very far for that scream after all.

Hendricks got out of the Explorer first, before Arch had even parked it. He just felt good, revitalized, like his body was all in working order again and he’d gotten the best night of sleep he’d ever had. He couldn’t remember feeling this good even in the Marines, when he was at the top of his physical conditioning. His boots hit the puddle as the Explorer parked just past the sedan that the Sygraath—Gideon—had had parked outside his motel room when last he’d seen the fucker.

The rain was coming down in sheets as he started to run down the road toward the dam. He could see Gideon out there, just staring at him. He didn’t wait for Arch because he didn’t need to. Hendricks pulled his sword as he went, and he felt fucking invincible. Whoever this Spellman guy was, he knew his shit.

“Wait up!” Arch called from behind him. Hendricks heard him and estimated he was at least twenty paces back—a couple seconds, maybe. He didn’t slow down because there wasn’t time.

A wind buffeted Hendricks, but his hat stayed on and that was all that mattered. He kept his grip on the sword as he ran. Gideon just stood there, and Hendricks could have sworn—yes, that fucker was smiling.

“I’m going to wipe that goddamned grin right off your shit-eating face,” Hendricks said, low and menacing, when he was only about ten paces away. He did not give a fuck that Gideon was a greater. Up close, the dude looked like his vision of an internet troll—bald, overweight and dressed like he should never leave the house.

“You’re going to die screaming,” Gideon said, and Hendricks was kind of amazed at the high pitch of his voice. The demon wasn’t small, but his voice made him sound a lot less intimidating.

The rain just poured on around them as Hendricks closed the last steps between them.

* * *

Lerner jerked the handbrake and sent the car into a skid. Like some shit right out of
The Fast and the Furious
, that’s what it was. Lerner had seen those movies on cable. They were mindless, but so was everything else that humans watched, and he had a lot of downtime between jobs.

He heard the gravel rattling on the undercarriage as they kicked up rocks. He kept the car from fishtailing, though. They’d hit a switchback, a sharp damned S-curve going back up the hill toward the top of the dam, and it taxed his driving skills. He would have considered it a minor miracle that he’d made the turn, but his people didn’t believe in miracles.

At least not for them.

“How much longer?” he shouted at Duncan.

Duncan took it well. “I don’t know. Five minutes? Ten?”

“You suck at reading maps,” Lerner said bitterly.

“I’d rather stick to reading,” Duncan said. Lerner knew what he meant by reading, and it wasn’t
Fifty Shades of Grey
. Though instruction in the best uses of whips and chains was occasionally useful in their work.

Lerner jerked the wheel as they came around another bend in the road. The rain was just slamming them now, making him drive half-blind. Which was an easy formula for disaster in these conditions.

As they came around the corner, Lerner caught a glimpse of the top of the dam. It was hard to see, but someone was up there. No, two someones. Then he saw a third.

“Looks like our cowboy showed up after all,” Duncan said. Lerner didn’t have to look to see if his eyes were closed; they were. “And his cop friend.”

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Lerner said. He really wasn’t, though; he didn’t even have a mother.

* * *

Erin was a couple turns back from them, she was pretty sure. She’d catch glimpses of them here and there as she went, and it wasn’t like this road had any turn offs. They were racing up the curvy fucking path to the top of the dam, and it was as direct a route up into the hills as you could get without climbing up at a near ninety-degree angle.

“Ummmm,” Lucia said from next to her. She spared a look for just a second as they hit a straightaway, and the hooker was green in face. She was holding real tight to the Oh shit bar, and Erin sent them around another corner in a skid. Lucia bounced in spite of her seat belt; she was just too small for it to hold her effectively. Erin sympathized; she had the same problem.

“Yeah, I know,” Erin said, spinning the wheel back to the left, “your lawyer will probably call this coercion or scaring the witness or some kind of shit like that.” She white-knuckled the wheel, and the car felt like it was perpetually an inch from sending them both over the edge. “I’ll take complaints later.”

“Who are these guys?” Lucia said, almost hiccupping as she spoke. Like she was gonna heave.

“I have no fucking idea,” Erin said, the frustration bleeding out as she floored it down a straightaway. Rain washed over the windshield. “But I’m damned sure gonna find out.”

* * *

Arch watched Hendricks do the windup as he came at Gideon. The cowboy wasn’t moving nearly as slowly as he had been when Arch had last seen him; it was like he wasn’t hurt at all. Arch would have wondered if he’d been faking it, but he’d seen the bruises. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Hendricks now had both eyes open and looking absolutely normal.

He didn’t have time to wonder, though. Hendricks failed to lead with his sword and took a body blow from a backhand Gideon threw out just casually. The cowboy went flying. He landed a few feet away, almost skidding over the edge but catching himself just in time.

Arch felt a frown take hold on his face. He had his gun drawn but knew how little effect it had on these things—and that was just the lessers. He tried to remember how much impact Hollywood, the last greater he’d faced, had shown from bullets. He had lost an arm to a big rifle.

“One of you is gonna scream for me,” Gideon said in a high voice. Arch thought he had a northern accent, but didn’t know enough about northern accents to place him. “Which one of you wants to volunteer?”

Arch raised his gun, a Glock 22, filled with sixteen .40 caliber bullets, drew a bead on Gideon’s torso, and started to fire.

* * *

Lerner took what he hoped like hell was the last curve. He blew past a guardhouse like the one he’d seen at the bottom of the dam doing about sixty, shooting up the hill with the pedal mashed to the floor. The road was straight from here anyway.

“The party’s started without us,” Duncan said, and Lerner knew he was reading. The engine was revving like it would blow any minute.

“I hope our friends,” Lerner slung the word friends like it was toxic, “last until we get there. I’d hate to see the guest of honor rip through them and get done with what he needs to do before we get a chance to intervene.”

“Don’t forget the party favors,” Duncan said. Lerner hadn’t forgotten. Their batons didn’t do shit against greaters.

That was what the bag in the trunk was for.

* * *

Hendricks took the impact on his shoulder and rolled out of it as best he could. Gideon hit harder than most demons, and he wasn’t even really trying, Hendricks didn’t think. The wet splashing noise he’d made as he landed coupled with the sudden rush of water down the neck of his shirt was a rude fucking awakening.

Arch stood off with Gideon gun raised while the demon said something about screaming. Hendricks could have heard him over the rain but he wasn’t paying any attention. He was too busy going for his own gun.

Arch started firing and Hendricks tried to match him. He had a 1911, made by Colt. He’d heard the story in the Marines about how it was actually designed by legendary gunmaker John Browning for the U.S. Army in the wake of the Spanish-American war. It had some hard-hitting rounds, big .45s. Bigger than what Arch carried, anyway.

But not as many bullets. He blew through all seven rounds in the magazine plus the one in the chamber about the time Arch was hitting his stride. Hendricks had a spare mag and changed it out quickly, fumbling a little from where he still lay in the water.

When he had the slide safely locked back into position and ready to fire again, he looked up. Gideon was just standing there, a look of discomfort on his face, like he had gas and nothing more troubling than that. It turned into a smile as Hendricks was getting to his feet and holstering his gun. He tightened the grip on his sword.

“Okay, boys,” Gideon said, grin showing some crooked teeth, “now that you’ve fired at me, let me return the favor.”

And he opened his mouth and blew fucking fire at Hendricks in an eight-foot jet of flame.

* * *

Erin was on the sedan in the home stretch, saw it crest the ridge at the edge of the dam road and disappear from sight. She could see a couple cars parked up there—one of them was Arch’s Explorer, she noted with surprise. “What the fuck?” she whispered.

“Another cop up here?” Lucia said, like she was looking for affirmation.

They were seconds behind the sedan in cresting the top of the hill. The road dipped down at a low angle after that, leveling out where it met the dam. The sedan had stopped in the middle of the road just in front of them and the two guys were already out, already running onto the dam where something—she squinted—what the fuck—?

There was Arch, she realized in a flash, with his back to the two guys getting out of the sedan. Just a few feet in front of him was another guy, a pudgy one, but it took a second to realize he was even a guy because he had a jet of fire coming out of his mouth that stretched out toward the steep edge of the Tallakeet Dam. At the end of it, jumping sideways toward Arch and rolling, kicking up water as he did so, was a man in a black coat and a cowboy hat.

“What the …” Lucia whispered in quiet awe as Erin hit the brakes, stopping the cruiser behind the sedan they’d been chasing like it was life itself only a moment before. “What IS that?”

“Holy fuck,” Erin said in raw shock, a cold, clammy feeling crawling over her skin as she watched the fat man breathe fire again in a long, blazing line at Hendricks, who was scrambling to avoid it. “It’s a fucking demon.”

* * *

Gideon was boiling over, the hot desire unspent and burning out of his mouth in the form of flames. He could spray it in a jet, he’d figured out with that engineer, and had seared the man to ashes from the waist up.