Mercifully, the jarring, lightning-bolt seizure that happened the first time a kiovore bit down on me doesn’t repeat, probably because it’s not trying to feed on me. Nevertheless, the rows of needle teeth do their work, sinking into my flesh and holding fast as it weakly bucks and thrashes, trying to get away as my blood pours down its throat. With a final burst of strength, it grabs me by the leg and manages finally to hurl me away. The teeth slash my palm to ribbons on the way out, and my chest becomes warm and wet as I hug the hand to my body.
The kiovore jerks, shuddering violently. Its hands reach out towards the ceiling, imploringly. A final plea? Is it calling out to its God? Is there even enough mind there for it to know what’s happening to it?
I will never know.
With a final, silent twitch it stretches out at full length, its movements fading. It doesn’t move again.
It’s dead.
Thirty-One
It feels like a very long time before I can muster up the energy to rise to my knees, but after I’m there it feels like work well done.
I take a moment to gingerly pull off my shirt and use the kiovore’s claw to cut one of the sleeves off, which I wrap tightly around my gutted left hand. I can’t tie it, but keeping it pinned against my chest holds the improve bandage in place well enough. I lurch to my feet and stagger across the room to where Hollett is laying.
He’s still unconscious, which I realize is a blessing when I see the awkward angle his left leg is at. It’s perfectly normal down to the knee, which is where the leg skews off at a nauseating angle that Nature never intended. He shouldn’t be moved, not without trained medical aid, but I can’t leave him down here alone. What if another kiovore, assuming there are any more kiovores, should decide to set up shop here? Even if they’re dead, anyone and anything could come exploring and find an easy victim. He’d hate for his end to come at the hands of a couple of looters.
It’ll hurt, moving his leg when it’s disjointed the way it is, but it’ll hurt more when he’s conscious. I grab him under the armpits and pull him backwards until his leg is straight. When I set his body down he groans, and I can see beads of sweat break out on his forehead and trickle like tiny rivers down through the pain lines creasing his skin. In seconds he’s blinking himself awake.
“What happened?” he hisses through teeth clenched so tight I’m surprised the words got through.
“It frisbeed you off a wall. We had to handle it without you.”
He smiles at that, then looks around and sees nobody standing behind me. “Kenta?” he says. It’s not a question.
“He did the heavy lifting. I was just clean-up.” I hold up my hand so he can see my bisected palm. He helps me tie the bandage around my palm, giving himself something to think about besides his own pain. Small trickles of fluid are being squeezed out of the corners of his eyes, but we both ignore them.
“Since it hasn’t butted into the conversation I’m assuming it’s dead?” he asks as he finishes tucks the bandage tightly into itself.
“As disco.”
“Disco came back.”
“He won’t.” I run down everything that happened after he blacked out. His eyes close for a second when I get to Kenta’s suicide, and when they open they’re a little bit harder. He doesn’t interrupt me as I finish the tale. I don’t think he trusts his voice. He respected Kenta, the soft-spoken kid with the beaten-dog personality who somehow managed to find the balls not only to step into the fight, but to finish it. In Hollett’s world respect counts for a lot. When I run out of things to say I flex my fingers as much as the bandage will allow. It’ll do until I can get back to Doctor Laveau.
“And the rest of them?” he asks when I’m done.
“My phone’s AWOL. Got yours?”
“In the Jeep.”
“Can you make it? I have to make a call. Unless you like it down here.”
“Give me a minute.” He reaches into the leather pouch at his waist and draws an object out. It looks like a small wedge of greasy black chalk in a Ziploc snack bag. He opens it and uses the chalk to draw a straight line across his forehead. “This will dull the pain,” he tells me.
“If you say so.” I’m not exactly skeptical, since he clearly knows more about this type of magic than I do, but until I see it done with my own eyes I can’t testify about its effectiveness. I’m quickly convinced. As soon as he finishes the line his face relaxes. Not completely, though. The pain is obviously still there, just muted.
“You ready?” I ask him.
“Not getting any readier.”
I sling his left arm over my shoulder with my left hand and get a hold of his belt with my right, waiting until he gives me the nod. I hope whatever it was he’s done to himself is strong enough, because this is going to hurt. He takes a couple of deep breaths, then nods.
I square my feet under us and, as smoothly as I can, haul us to our feet. He’s close to my height but a lot denser in musculature, and lifting him upright brings a groan of effort from my mouth. His groan is a lot louder, and he sags against me as his wrenched leg comes off the floor. His smooth head breaks out in sweat and for a moment I’m afraid that he’s passed out. I might be able to get him up the stairs if he’s unconscious, but it’ll be hard and I’d probably hurt him even more in doing so. Luckily, he composes himself and assures me that he’s okay. He even takes the first hop before I can take a step and I have to move fast to keep up.
As we pass by the kiovore’s body he gives it a long look. He gives Kenta’s a longer one, but whatever’s on his mind, he keeps it to himself.
We make it to the stairs slowly but doggedly. Going up the stairs we take each step one at a time. I curse the man the kiovore had been when he’d made this place. Would it have killed him to put in a hand rail?
We make it to the showroom floor without falling, though my lower back is screaming from having to muscle what feels like a thousand pounds of mercenary up the steps. Over by one of the intact windows is a small couch. I bring Hollett over to it and, as gently as I can, stretch him out on it. Relief floods through my back, my sciatic nerve actually thanking me for giving it a break.
I point out to Hollett that the black line on his forehead is almost gone. He digs out the chalk again, contemplates it. “I shouldn’t really use it again so soon,” he says, then he shrugs and draws the line back. I give it a second, then when I can tell that the pain is receding I arrange his twisted leg as naturally as I can on the cushion.
“I have to make that call,” I say.
“Keys are on the roof,” he grunts back.
“You going to make it?” I ask, but he waves me away, exhaustion and pain combining to sap his energy. I head out to the Jeep, find the keys just above the driver’s side door and collect his phone. Amazingly, it opens right up without prompting me for a password. Maybe he keeps it magically locked.
The first call is to Lisa. She assures me she’s fine, and Doctor Laveau comes on the line and backs her up. I say suitably mushy things, then hang up and call Erich Gault.
“DeLong? Is that you?” It sounds like I’ve interrupted a party. I can barely hear him through the bedlam behind him.
“What’s going on?” I have to stop myself from shouting back.
“They’ve dropped, all of them.” Then I can hear him yell away from the phone, “Hey, shut up, you assholes!” The din ebbs, and when he comes back on the line he’s a lot clearer. “The kiovores attacked and they were this fucking close to breaking in, but then they just stopped. They fell in their tracks, every one of them.”
“Don’t let anyone hurt them,” I say quickly. “They’re going to recover.”
“What?”
I explain about the bloodline curse and what we had done to break it. He listens with uncharacteristic silence. When I’m done, he says, “Huh.”
Usually Gault, a creature of passion and fire, can be read as easily as a billboard, but for once I can’t read the flat tone in his voice. “What’s that mean
?”
For a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer, but he fools me. “Why’d you do it?” he asks.
I know where he’s going. “Don’t flatter yourself, Gault. I didn’t change my mind about any of you assholes. I didn’t do it for you.”
“Then why?”
“Because fuck you, that’s why.”
That’s when his voice comes back to life. His laugh is a rolling bark, not at all humorous. “I’m still going to kill you, DeLong. But now I may actually feel bad about it. For a minute.”
I suspect that’s about as much respect as I’ll ever get from the werewolf. “Hollett’s hurt,” I say. “Can you get some paramedics over here?”
“I’ll call them now.”
“Thanks,” I say, then I hang up quickly before he can get another threat in. He respects Hollett, so he’ll have the cavalry here in no time an I want to be gone before the paramedics show up. Claire was one of them, and for all I know she might still be. If so, I don’t want to risk facing her again tonight. I don’t know if I can trust myself not to do something I’d thoroughly enjoy but would pay for later. I head back inside. Hollett’s awake on his couch but clearly uncomfortable.
“Sounds like a celebration,” he says, half in a groan.
“I love it when a plan comes together. The moment the first one dropped the rest of them followed suit, just like we hoped. They’re changing back as we speak.”
“Good to hear, because I’m not ready for another round.”
“Just sit tight. Help’s on the way,” I tell him. “You okay to wait for them by yourself? If the wrong EMT shows up, it could be trouble.”
“Think I’ll live out the half hour, at least. Where are you going? You killed it. It’s over.”
“Oh, no.” Something in my voice makes his eyes widen. “Not yet. There’s one last thing I have to do.”
“Sota?”
I nod. “He has to be held accountable.”
Hollett lets pain bring down his eyelids. It’s a sign of dismissal. “Guess I’ll see you afterward at Laveau’s.” His voice is hoarse.
“I’ll bring you a beer.”
“I don’t drink,” he answers. “Make it a Hawaiian Stromboli and we’ll call it fair.”
Hawaiian Stromboli. I was right the first time. Something in him is definitely not human. I make sure his thorn wand is within reach and, feeling every one of my injuries, make it a point of walking without staggering out to the Jeep. I fire it up and squeal the tires into the street.
Thirty-Two
It’s against the law to talk on your cell phone while driving. I do it anyway. See you in court.
The conversation lasts almost the entire drive. Most of it is me talking, with only a comparatively small amount of time set aside for listening. Samantha doesn’t judge, especially once I tell her about ending the kiovore plague and Sota Gamagori’s involvement.
Miraculously, I get the call in on time. The Aegis cordon isn’t complete yet, so their inward march isn’t due to launch for another half an hour. Time enough for them to be given the order to stand down and switch gears to a rescue mode. Under the circumstances, it doesn’t feel like a complete win.
The streets are the kind of empty usually seen in post-apocalyptic movies. No signs of life, of habitation. A fast-food bag drifting in the breeze is the only motion. I guess it’s better than the alternative, the panicked townsfolk running and screaming. The people here are taking this curfew seriously. Nothing like this has happened during my time here, but judging by the populace’s reaction it’s not their first panic. Hardly a surprise, in this town.
Another couple of minutes and I’m pulling over to the side of the road, passing by the driveway and stopping the Jeep under a streetlight. The spell that disabled my engine earlier is still fresh in my mind.
They haven’t had time to repair the gate. They haven’t even moved it from where my Aegis supplied red shell blasted it open. Fine. Now I don’t have to break it twice.
I remember the welcoming committee Hollett and I ran into last time and what they were carrying. I get out of the Jeep, open the rear hatch, and delve into my emergency kit.
I don’t take any of the fun stuff. All I need from the kit is a change of ammunition. I drop the magazine from my Springfield, letting it fall somewhere in the trunk, and pull out two fresh ones out of the kit. Standard bullets, not silver or Aegis rounds. Nothing fancy here. Twenty-four strictly basic hollow-point lead bullets. I seal the kit and slam the trunk shut and slap one of the magazines into the pistol. I cross the street with the gun naked in my hand.
I can see the problem as I approach the twin guard booths. They’re deserted, lights doused. From there I can see the house clearly. Not a single light burns. The cars are gone. They didn’t even bother to close the front door.
The Gamagori are gone.
One of the booths has a small, college sized refrigerator. The door hangs open and I kick it shut so hard it cracks off its hinges. Swearing, I drop onto the hard wooden bench built into the brick wall.
Why the hell did I run my mouth about the Aegis lockdown? If I’d kept quiet, then Sota and his brood would have been scooped up by now. He’d planned on running, that much was clear given that they’d had enough luggage ready to go to clothe a whole Broadway production. I’m guessing that his original plan was to simply drive out of town, which would have dropped him neatly into Aegis clutches if I hadn’t gotten verbal diarrhea, but that plan changed in a hurry when he learned that with the sea and ground sealed off there was no egress he could use.
Still, they’ve gone somewhere, and two out of the three dimensions are out. There’s air travel, since even the Aegis finds it hard to monitor the sky and as far as I know even the Gamagori don’t have flying cars. There’s a local airfield that would suit the bill but it’s way the hell out in the sticks, well outside the Aegis perimeter.
So, what’s the best alternative for a rich man who can’t get to the airport? Bringing the airport to you.
I call up a mental map of Superstition Bay. It’s impossible for any kind of airplane to touch down and lift off again anywhere in town. Even in a town built on impossibilities, in some cases literally, even impossibility has its limits. All right, an airplane’s out.
A helicopter is a better choice, but still a strain. You need a lot of space to set one down and bring it back into the air safely, but that’s still a lot more doable than an airplane. Okay, a helicopter seems logical, and the longer I think about it the more likely it feels. Now, he has to meet it somewhere, and there are a lot of places in town that would suit. Parking lots. The SBHS football field. How do I pick where he went, and is it too late already?
I discard the idea of the football field. Clive Reese donated lots of cash to the school system. Knowing Sota’s cast-iron mentality I bet the idea of using the football field never occurred to him. I feel myself smile as a lightbulb goes off in my head. No, he’d be more likely to follow the path he feels his own money paved, and most of his money went to fund projects at Three Saints Hospital.
Projects like its own shiny helipad.
I run back to the Jeep and have the engine going before my ass dents the seat. I lay a strip of rubber pulling back into the street, turn a hard left at the next intersection and make the engine roar like it’s trying to teach me its language.
I don’t have a real plan in effect. I should. Using my head has kept me alive in a lot of situations where I should’ve died. It’s true what they say about fools rushing in, but at this moment I’m thinking about the casualties of the last day. Lisa. Hollett. All the damned Grey who were infected by the kiovore curse and for all the civilians who were hurt for being in the way. And then I think of Calvin and Celeste Reese, dead for being fools, and Kenta Gamagori, dead for being brave. When I was an Envoy on the Aegis payroll I used to fight monsters to protect those who can’t protect themselves.
Sometimes I failed. Sometimes I couldn’t get there in time. Whenever that
happened, it was my job to make certain that whatever – that whoever it was that caused the problem couldn’t do it again. I’ve had my hand in a few incidents since being retired to this town, but I never felt like anything more than a man doing a job. Here, though, on the attack and heading into battle instead of waiting for the battle to come to me that old feeling reignites and suddenly I’m not a lowly town cop anymore. I’m not even the wanna-be I was yesterday.
I’m an Envoy.
I drive like one. Word hasn’t spread yet that the menace was over. The Grey won’t show their faces until word-of-mouth gets the news around, and the normal probably won’t find out until the morning news. With nobody around to risk crashing into I’m able to open up the throttle a little.
I grab my phone and redial Samantha. I almost don’t. My ego’s taken a beating over the last two days. I really want to bring Sota down myself, and for a moment I hold the phone without unlocking it. When that moment ends I beat down my pride and make the call. Getting him is more important than who gets him.
She rolls with the sudden change of circumstances with practiced smoothness. She worked the field for a long time, so she knows too well how quickly a situation can change. It’s not the first time a problem that had been solved suddenly unsolves itself. She also agrees to dispatch a couple of Envoys to take Sota into custody. They’ll never make it on time. I’m way past the point of caring for things like speed limits and I’m still not sure I’ll make it on time, but no way in hell am I going to stop now.
“Three Saints Hospital,” I tell her. “On the roof. He’s taking a helicopter.”
I hear her saying something to another person. When she comes back on the line she sounds animated, lively.
No More Devils: A Visit to Superstition Bay Page 28