Morganville Vampires 11: Last Breath (37 page)

She slowed down as she caught sight of them, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, perfect,” she said. “
You
guys
.
” Claire wondered if she’d heard about her death; obviously not, because Monica skipped right over her presence. Or just massively didn’t care either way.

Monica tried to go around them, but Eve stepped directly in her way. “Bitch, please!” Monica tried to shove her, but Shane’s timing was perfect; he moved Eve out of the way, and Monica’s flattened palm hit his chest instead. “Oh. Well, hello, delicious.” She batted her eyes at him. “Looking for something a little less pasty and junior-sized?”

“Keys,” he said, and looked down at her hand on his chest. “You’re touching me, Monica. That’s a bad thing.”

“Keys,” she repeated, and slowly stepped back. “What do you mean,
keys
?”

“As in, give. Now.” Shane had that look—hard, and no bullshit. “We don’t have time for your drama, Monica. Nobody does.”

She got serious. It looked very odd on her, Claire thought. “My brother told me not to go out,” she said. “He wasn’t wrong, was he? Something’s happening. They shut down the club and told us all to leave.” Shane nodded slowly, and Monica turned her attention to Claire. “Why do you need my keys, exactly?”

“To get to Amelie,” Claire said. “We need a ride. Eve’s is toast.”

“That’s true,” Eve said. “I’m in mourning.”

“Really? How can anybody tell?” Monica tossed her car keys in her hand and gave them a brilliant smile. “Tell you what, losers: I drive. Nobody touches the baby but me. Besides, if I’m semisafe here with my brother, I’ll be
much
safer with the Founder.”

Claire doubted that, really, but she wasn’t about to tell Monica that.

Eve, for once,
didn’t
call shotgun, and neither did Shane. She just got in the back, behind Monica. Claire quickly rock-paper-scissored with Shane on the way to a decision, and Claire lost. She was up front, with Monica, and Shane piled in the back, along with a canvas bag of stuff that he’d dragged out of the back of the hearse.

“Seriously,” Shane said as they settled in and Monica turned the key. “You live in a town full of
vampires
. Is a convertible really the best option?”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Monica said, and the pop music started up in midsong. It was off Monica’s iPod, Claire guessed, and she was apparently a big Britney Spears fan.

“Toxic.”

That was actually weirdly appropriate.

B
y the time they were halfway to Founder’s Square, Claire wished the shotgun seat actually came
with
a shotgun, because Monica was killing her slowly, with her incessant chatter. That was funny, because Monica normally wasn’t talkative, at least not to them, but it seemed like her shut-up circuit had fried.

“… I went to DeeDee’s to pick up my new dress, and it was
closed
. Not even a note in the window. I was so pissed off! I actually had to wear
this
thing… .” Monica plucked at the fabric of what she was nearly wearing in disgust. Claire didn’t see how that was really possible, since it fit like skin. “… Which all the guys have seen about a dozen times now, not to mention Janis Taylor was there and wearing
her
new dress, which was skanky, and I know she was talking about me recycling the look—”

Shane, from the back, said, “I’m really trying to swear off the random fighting, Monica, but I swear to God that if you don’t shut up, I’m going to go back to Step Zero on my twelve-step program. We don’t give a shit about your dress or your club or Janis Taylor. Michael’s in trouble.”

Monica sent him a hard look in the rearview mirror, and said, “And when is one of you losers
not
in trouble, anyway? Not that Michael is a total waste of genetics; I’ll give you that. So … what’s happening? You seem to always know.”

Claire said, “There’s something new in town, and it’s bad. It’s taking vampires
and
humans and—” What was it doing, exactly? She didn’t know, but whatever it was, there was no doubt it was pure evil. “Amelie’s scared enough to shut up the town and run.”

“Shut up the town?” Monica’s glossy lips pressed flat. “Are you
kidding me
? I put a lot of work into living here. I have
roots
.”

“Here I thought you stopped dyeing your hair,” Shane said. Monica flipped him off.

“Shouldn’t that be Eve’s line?” she shot back. “Or has Goth Princess finally learned to shut up?”

Eve leaned forward. As Claire looked back at her, she felt a little shocked at her friend’s set, serious expression. “I’ve learned a lot of things, Monica,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind and the music. “Michael is missing. He may be dying. I am
not in the mood
for your shallow bullshit right now. If you get in my way, I will
cut you
, because you are nothing but a speed bump on my way to saving him. Are we clear?”

Monica’s lips parted, and she stared straight ahead for a few silent seconds before she said, “Clear.” That was all. She shifted the car into a higher gear, and the engine growled hard. “I know you won’t believe this, but I do care. He’s not bad, your boyfriend. And we have a drastic shortage of hotties in this town. Can’t really afford to waste one.”

Eve eased back into her seat without another word. She stared off to the side, at the darkened streets, the empty stores and houses.

The Morganville that was.

Shane said, “It’s about to rain again. You should put the top up.”

“I have to slow down to do that,” Monica said. “You want that?”

“Good point. I don’t mind getting wet if you don’t.”

“Oh, I
mind
, hot pants; you think all this didn’t take work?” She indicated, well, all of herself.

“Hot pants?” Claire said, choking on a sudden and inappropriate laugh, because she just knew what Shane’s face would look like without having to turn around. “Do you have any survival instinct at all?”

Monica smiled, one of those cruel, evil smiles that had always heralded trouble. “What do you think?” she almost purred, and shook her long hair back over her shoulders, where it snapped like a flag in the wind. “I’m still alive. And I’m still
fabulous
. Unlike, well, everybody else in this car.” Her smile faded, and she downshifted. “Company.”

The convertible took a corner hard, tires squealing, and ahead Claire saw the glow of flashing police-car lights. They’d blocked off the street—and probably every approach to Founder’s Square.

“Look, I’ve done my bit, but I’m not running roadblocks for you,” Monica said, and slowed the convertible to an easy rumble.

“Try another route.”

“Don’t be stupid—they’re
all
blocked. If you want to get in, you’re going to have to get stealthy, and trust me, my shiny red four-wheeled baby is many things, but stealthy she is not.”

That was true, and Monica wasn’t exactly subtle, either. Claire nodded grudgingly. Monica pulled the convertible over to the curb, and the three of them unbuckled and got out.

“Here,” Monica said, and reached under her driver’s-side seat. She pulled out some kind of designer bag—Claire had no idea how to tell one from another—and opened it up, and pulled out …

… A handgun. Not an automatic, like the one Shane had held while sitting on her bedroom floor…. This was a classic revolver.

For a wild second, Claire thought that Monica might actually shoot her; she wouldn’t have been all that surprised, really. There was a lazy, cruel pleasure in Monica’s eyes as she held the gun, and one eyebrow went up… .

… And then she swung it around and held it butt out toward Claire.

Shane intercepted it, frowned, and said, “Okay, how come you’re carrying around a thirty-eight?”

“It’s Texas,” Monica said. “I have rights. Oh, and check the bullets.” She pressed a button on the dash with a slender, perfectly manicured finger, and checked her windblown hair as the black canvas top began to rise up with a whine. “Ciao, losers.”

She pulled a U-turn and hit the gas.

Shane broke open the cylinder on the gun and whistled. “Okay, interesting … hollow points, filled with silver. All the punch, none of the problems. My dad had some of these.”

“Did they work?” Eve asked.

He snapped the cylinder back in with a flick of his wrist, and put the small gun in the pocket of his coat. “Hell yeah, they work. But you’d better mean it, because it’ll kill what you’re shooting at, human or vamp.”

“Will it kill those … things?” Eve asked.

“It’s just a guess, but probably not. The caliber is a thirty-eight, which means it’s a lower-velocity round, but plenty enough to punch through one of those—sacks of skin—front to back without bouncing around inside. I’m not sure how much damage it’ll do to them, really. Your knife worked better. And your sword.” He tapped his pocket. “But if any vampire wants to take us on, it’ll be a pretty good deterrent.”

She nodded and shouldered the strap on the equipment bag. “Then let’s go.”

“Wait,” Claire said. “We need a plan. We can’t just walk straight up to the police line and say,
Hello, let us in, please. We’re heavily armed and desperate
!”

“Why not?” Claire really didn’t like the gleam in Eve’s eyes, or her stiff body language. “Amelie doesn’t mind dumping Michael and running away. She’s leaving him to die, right? Well, if she needs a reminder of why that’s a
very bad idea
, I’m happy to be her wake-up call.”

“Take a breath, Eve. Let’s do this smart, okay? There’s a lot of muscle standing between us and Amelie, and some of it’s human cops who don’t know what’s going on. We need to find a way that doesn’t involve grievous bodily harm.”

“All right,” Eve said. “We’ll try it your way. Once.” She looked over at Shane, and got a small, unwilling nod from him. “Then we do it
our
way. The Morganville way.”

Maybe her ears were supersensitive now, courtesy of either Myrnin’s blood exchange or the lingering fear of that high-pitched, seductive music, but Claire heard something in the distance. A rumble. It sounded like a whole lot of cars or trucks, and it was coming closer.

Voices, too. Shouts.

She turned, trying to find the direction, and realized it was coming from around the corner, the same way Monica had gone in her getaway.

It wasn’t Monica.

What came around the corner was a streetwide growling wall of pickups, cars, delivery vans … all kinds of vehicles. And behind them was a crowd of people, maybe a hundred or so.

“Ah,” Shane said, “maybe we should … ?”

Claire’s eyes fixed on a man who was standing up in the bed of one of the lead pickups. He was facing toward the cops. It took her a second, but she recognized him—the man from the camera store, the one with the stake tattoo.

“Crap,” Shane said. “Captain Obvious.”

“What? Captain Obvious is dead!” Eve said.

“Long live Captain Obvious. He’s the replacement. He’s the one who’s been getting people to sign on.”

“The tattoos,” Claire put in. “The resistance symbol. He’s leading the charge.”

“Yep. Don’t know if this is a good time, but he’s decided to go for it,” Shane said. “Like I said, maybe we should hang back, Claire… . Claire!”

He grabbed for her, but she still had at least
some
residue of vampire speed, and it was enough to leap off the curb, race at an angle toward the trucks, and leap up into the bed of the one holding Captain Obvious. Shane was running after her, and so was Eve, but her attention was fixed on the man in the truck, who was turning toward her like he intended to throw her back.

She held up her hand, palm out, and said, “Wait. I just want to talk.”

Captain Obvious, the new leader of the human resistance in Morganville, laughed. He had a knife. It was held at his side, but she saw the edge glittering in a passing streetlight. “Amelie’s little pet wants to talk? How stupid do you think we are?”

“I know you don’t believe me, but believe this: it isn’t the right time for fighting back. Even if you win, you lose. You’re not going to have a revolution. You’re not going to have a town. You’re not going to be
alive
!”

“I’m willing to die to set people free,” he said. “Are you?” He raised the knife. What was in his eyes was a little bit crazy, and very serious.

“Do you know what’s out there?” Claire asked, and pointed out toward the edge of town. Toward the nightmare. “Because it’s worse than Amelie. Way, way worse. I’ve seen it.”

“If it scares the vamps, I’m all for it,” he said.

“It’s taking humans, too,” Claire said. “And you need to help them, not waste your time with this. If you want to fight, fight what’s really going to kill this town.” She pointed again. “It’s out there, at the Morganville Civic Pool. Stock up on earplugs and silver-coated weapons, and if you hear the music, don’t give in. You’ll be dead if you do.”