All The Things You Have To Burn (Grey Corp Book 1)

by Abbey, Kit

  “Thanks for everything,” said William from the back seat.

  Percy nodded and rapped his knuckles on the roof. “Be careful,” he said.

  ‘Die in a fire,’ said the look on Mark’s face.

  Jones started the ignition, and the vibration from the motor made William cry out in pain. “How far do we have to drive?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know,” replied Jones, nonchalantly. “Jamison-Smith said south, so we’ll go south.”

  As much as William wanted to end the journey before it had even begun he was reminded again of the photo of the dam wall on Madeline’s desk. And the drawing on Gwen’s fridge.

  “There aren’t any really big dams down south are there?”

  Jones thought, then nodded. “About four hours away.”

  Four hours. William buried his head in his hands. “We should look there first.”

  Jones didn’t argue, he just put the Charger into gear and peeled out of Percy’s driveway. He put a tape into the deck and turned it up loud. When a speed bump made William groan he turned it up just a little bit more.

  Chapter 61.

  The road seemed to stretch on forever in one endless black ribbon. The city became the suburbs, the suburbs became half constructed housing estates, and those slowly became stretching farmland. There was none of the rhythm of city driving, the steady start and stop like blood pumping through arteries. There were no traffic lights, no stop signs, only endless, uninterrupted driving, at speeds the city did not allow. It made William feel vaguely nauseous.

  And it only got worse as night settled down upon them. With no neon signs or street lights the world outside of the Charger seemed to consist entirely of shadow and darkness. Trees became twisted and ghoulish things when the headlights cast a brief and eerie glow upon them and the lights of distant farm houses glittered like malevolent eyes.

  They were barely two hours out of the city, and already William was miserable with homesickness. Well, miserable with homesickness and leg pain. Homesickness, leg pain, and his missing powers. And worry. And nausea. The list of things William was miserable with would probably have continued to grow, but he noticed that the Charger had begun to slow.

  William looked out of the windows, but could see no reason for it. He could see nothing but heavy darkness to all sides, and the too brief snatch of road lit up by the headlights.

  They slowed further. Jones reached down and turned the music off, eyes scanning the darkness as though searching for something.

  “What’s wrong?” William asked.

  “Something isn’t right.”

  “What?”

  “There are no other cars on the road.”

  “Why would there be,” said William, “we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “No we’re not,” said Jones. “We’ve barely left the city behind. We’re still on the highway. There should be other cars.”

  “Maybe there’s something really good on tv tonight,” said William.

  They turned a sharp corner, and there was a semi-trailer stretched across the road. Had Jones still been travelling at his previous speed, the Charger would have slammed into it. They would have been killed, if not instantly then pretty close to it. As it was he had to break sharply, and wrench the starring wheel around. The movement left the car parallel to the trailer, and caused William’s leg to fall from its pillows and hit the seat. He swore loudly. The pain required his full attention for a moment, and by the time he was done with that Jones had gotten out of the car.

  William managed to get the door behind him open. With great difficulty and even greater pain he swung himself around so he was sitting on the edge of the seat, his injured and uninjured legs stretched out in front of him, feet resting on the cool, damp road.

  Jones had moved around the car, and now leaned with apparent casualness against the passenger door. Arms folded, and he inspected the abandoned trailer with his head cocked to one side. It didn’t appear to have been in an accident; it was as though the driver had simply parked it so it spanned the length of the road, and then wandered off into the darkness.

  “You may as well show yourselves,” Jones called out suddenly. “I can smell you.”

  Someone stepped out from behind the trailer, moving into the bleached glare of the headlights.

  “Chris!” exclaimed William, “what are you doing here?”

  “Collecting,” he said. His skin appeared paler than it ever had before, and his eyes glowed red. Jones’ offhand claim that he was a vampire seemed a lot less ludicrous all of a sudden.

  “Collecting what?”

  “I’m going to take a wild guess that they’re there to collect us,” said Jones.

  “Oh,” said William. “Right.”

  “Actually, not quite right,” said Chris with a grin. (His teeth were unnaturally long and sharp, and surely William should have noticed that before). “We’re only here to collect your heads.” The darkness behind Chris appeared to shift and move as the rest of the Collectors moved forward into the light.

  “Mr. Grey came to see me personally,” said Chris. “Made it very clear that he did not in any way require you both to be brought back alive. He may have suggested he’d even prefer the opposite.”

  “Mr. Grey spoke to you personally?” said Jones. “How exciting that must have been for you.”

  Jacob moved to stand next to Chris. He bared his teeth at Jones, his face twisted by anger. “Mr. Grey has let you get away with a lot, more than you deserve,” he said. “Well this is it, your game is up.”

  “Oh no,” said Jones.

  Jeff moved to Chris’ other side. “You killed Clarissa,” he said softly.

  The other Collectors muttered angrily amongst themselves at this. Six sets of red eyes glaring angrily at Jones.

  “I didn’t kill her,” said Jones, “I put her out of her misery. What Grey Corp did to you all is unconscionable, don’t tell me you don’t wish for death every day.”

  Jones actually sounded earnest, but the collectors were unmoved.

  “I’ve wanted to kill you for so long,” said Chris. “But they said no. Said you were too valuable,” he spat the word out like a broken tooth, “but I guess you ain’t so valuable any more.”

  “I guess not,” said Jones. He wasn’t looking at the Collectors; his eyes were scanning left and the right, searching for possible escape routes. William could see nothing but darkness in every direction, but he lacked jacked up werewolf eyes.

  “I bet you thought you could get away with it,” said Kirk. “Like you get away with everything.”

  “You have no idea what I think,” said Jones, “or what I did or did not get away with.”

  “It’s time for you to die, werewolf.” said Chris.

  “Just me?” said Jones. “I thought you were here for both our heads.”

  Chris looked around at the rest of the Collectors, and one by one they nodded at him. He looked at William.

  “We know you tried to save Clarissa,” he said. “And you were our friend. If you run, we won’t chase you. Just this once.”

  “You won’t?” said William.

  “We’ll tell the Man you managed to escape. He’ll be angry, but Jones’ head will cheer him up.”

  “You tried to save her,” said Barry. “We owe you.”

  “So get out of here,” said Chris, “take his car and just get out of here.”

  William wasn’t sure how they expected him to drive with his hurt leg. But, he realised, it was a moot point.

  “I can’t do that,” he said.

  “Why not?” asked Chris.

  “I’m not leaving him,” said William. “He didn’t leave me when he could have.”

  Jones stopped scanning the darkness for a way out and sharply looked at William.

  “He tried to kill you,” said Kirk.

  “He killed Clarissa,” said Barry.

  “All v
alid points,” said William. “I’m still not leaving.”

  Jones was staring at him..

  “Then you’re a fool,” said Chris. “You stay here, and we’ll kill you.”

  “Sucks to be me then,” said William.

  Then, before any more words could be exchanged, Jones attacked. The movement was sudden, and he was so blindingly fast. He was at Jacob’s side before anyone had a chance to react. In his hand was his knife, and he jammed it into Jacobs chest.

  Chris shouted, and he grabbed at Jones. With his spare hand Jones knocked him back. The movement was casual, almost indifferent, but it sent Chris flying. The other Collectors rushed forward en masse, but before they could reach him Jones freed the knife and plunged his hand into the wound. He tossed Jacob’s heart aside like a chewing gum wrapper, and turned to face the remaining Collectors.

  “I’ll kill you!” screamed Barry.

  The four of them threw themselves at Jones. In the gloom William could just make out Chris rising slowly to his feet. William could see a rib protruding from the vampire’s side. Chris grasped the bone and forced it back inside of his body. He rolled his shoulder a few times and then ran at Jones.

  Jones’ knife flashed and glinted, his face was twisted into a snarl. The cuts he inflicted with his knife didn’t impede the Collectors in any significant way, the wounds healed in moments. William suspected that if Jones had attacked Clarrissa at night her broken bones would have snapped back together in minutes. With a roar Jones managed to send Jeff flying over the roof of the Charger and into the darkness, but Chris immediately took his place. The four vampires circled around werewolf and Jones was moving constantly to try and keep them in front.

  William looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon, for some way to help. If he had his powers, it wouldn’t be an issue. He could Illude a knife, or a crossbow, or a fucking flamethrower, something!

  The roof of the Charger made a ‘ka-klunk’ sort of noise as Jeff landed on it and then sprung off towards Jones. It was five against one now. Jones was holding them off, but only just, and for how much longer could he manage it? William wanted to scream with frustration.

  He twisted around, feeling about blindly under the seat in front of him, and when that proved fruitless, he jammed his hand down the back of the cushions behind him. A sudden pain let him know he’d found something sharp. He gripped it and eased it free. It was a small knife, with a bone handle engraved with an intricate leaf pattern. William wasn’t really that surprised that Jones would have knives tucked away in the nook and crannies of his car, although he would have preferred a long sword, maybe a claymore. Still, the little bone handled knife was better then what he’d had before; nothing.

  So now he was armed, kind of, but there was still nothing he could do to help. There was no way he was getting over there on his leg, and he somehow doubted that any of the Collectors would be nice enough to come over to him and sit quietly while he attempted to do some damage with his knife.

  At this moment, Barry’s body landed at William’s feet.

  It appeared that Jones had broken his neck and flung him away. Already, William could see the muscles and bones under the vampire’s skin working and kitting themselves back together. He gripped the knife tightly, and lent over. If the way Jones killed vampires was anything to go by, you needed to cut their hearts out to make it stick. But William didn’t think the small knife in his hand was up to breaking through ribs.

  He looked at his shaking hands and was forced to concede that maybe it wasn’t the size of the knife that was the problem. Killing strangers, that was one thing. Killing Barry, that was another. Barry was his friend. Barry was an alright kind of guy. Barry was starting to wake up. William wondered if he was the kind of guy who could kill a friend, or if he was the kind of guy who could sit back and hope that a werewolf would do it for him.

  Barry’s eyes shot open just in time to see William plunge the knife into his chest.

  Turned out William’s nerves hadn’t been the only problem, the knife really wasn’t big enough. He buried it to the hilt and the damn thing hadn’t even hit bone. But it was sharp. Very sharp. He’d been lucky not to lose his fingers when groping about behind the cushions. The blade parted Barry’s flesh like a hot spoon through strawberry ice cream. William moved it easily from side to side, widening the wound to fit his hand inside and force the blade further down. The ribs offered slightly more resistance, but with a little added pressure they too fell by the wayside. There wasn’t as much blood as he thought there’d be and what little there was oozed thickly like golden syrup.

  Barry screamed, eyes wide and bulging. With startling speed he moved to grab William’s wrist. His hand was cold, and gripped tightly enough to hurt. He was stronger than William, even with a gaping wound in his chest. He forced William’s hand and the knife it held out and away from his body.

  “You’ll pay for that,” Barry snarled, his hand tightened around William’s wrist. There was the distinctive noise of bones cracking, and William yowled. “You should’ve run when you had the chance.”

  Instead of responding, William plunged his free hand into the wound in Barry’s chest. The jagged edge of a broken rib sliced into his arm, but it was small time pain in the grand scheme of William’s many pains.

  His hand found Barry’s heart (or at least what he assumed was Barry’s heart. It could have been his spleen for all William knew of anatomy). He griped, he pulled, and just like that he found himself with a handful of gooey heart, sludgy blood oozing slowly down his arm.

  Barry spasmed, just once, and was then still.

  His wrist hurt, and his leg hurt, and the cut that ran down his arm hurt, and the small of his back hurt from extended bending over, and all of these hurts combined were still not quite enough to overpower the fact that he had just killed Barry. William looked up, and saw that while he’d been killing Barry, Jones had been killing Kirk. Jones seemed less troubled by it than William.

  Chris, Danny and Jeff had taken a step back. The three surviving Collectors glared at Jones.

  “Who’s next?” asked Jones, breathing heavy.

  “You’re getting tired, old man,” said Danny, “tired old you isn’t taking down all four of us.”

  “I’m not tired, I’m sure as hell not old,” said Jones, “and there’s only three of you.”

  Without taking his eyes off them, Jones jerked his head in the direction of William and Barry and Barry’s heart.

  “Ah,” said Chris, and William knew that whatever friendship they had shared was gone forever.

  “You should have left when we gave you the chance,” Jeff said to him.

  “I should have gotten a job at a supermarket,” said William.

  Jones lunged at the remaining vampires. But maybe he was a little more tired than he claimed, or maybe a little older, or maybe a little of both; because he didn’t lunge fast enough.

  Danny leapt aside, and using Jones momentum against him he brought the werewolf down. They were on him, like hunting dogs on a wild boar, like little kids on free lollies, they were on him. Jones yelled, and tried to fight, but they had him pinned. Danny and Jeff had to put all of their weight on his arms to hold them down, and they were only just managing it. But only just was enough, and despite Jones flinging his head back and forth wildly, Chris managed to get a good enough grip to sink his teeth into Jones’ neck.

  And William thought he’d felt useless before.

  Jones yelled, a wordless noise of rage and pain.

  “God damn it!” shouted William, “get off of him!”

  The three Collectors did not look up, and they certainly didn’t get off of him. William carefully tucked the little knife in his pocket, and then gripped the car door with one hand, and the frame with the other.

  This was going to hurt, he knew, but if he did nothing then Jones would surely die. Whatever the pain, he would just have to push through it. William was sure he p
ossessed the inner resources to do this. With this in mind, and a steel resolve in his heart, William hoisted himself to his feet.

  He’d been right, it did hurt. And he’d wrong, he did not possess the resources to push through it. He shrieked in pain and crumpled, landing on top of Barry’s body. His leg had been aching before; now it screamed.

  He rolled off of Barry, and lay on the cold wet bitumen, staring up at the sky. For a moment he could see nothing but the bright spots that wavered in front of his eyes and hear nothing but a roaring in his ears. He was convinced that he was about to black out from the pain.

  The noise only seemed to get louder, but his vision cleared and the dancing spots were replaced with stars. William turned his head, to see if Jones was ok. He found that he couldn’t really tell, as Jones and the Collectors were nothing more than dark silhouettes. Which was odd, because the Charger’s headlights were behind William. He should be a silhouette for them, not the other way around. It took a while, longer than it probably should have, for William to figure out what was going on: There was another, brighter, source of light shining onto the scene from under the truck.

  The collectors had already noticed it.

  “Hey,” said Danny, “there’s a car.”

  Chris growled in annoyance, and his shadowed form sat up. Jones didn’t move. “It’s probably just someone from Grey Corp,” he said.

  “Maybe,” said Jeff, but he sounded doubtful. “You think I should check?”

  “Don’t you dare move,” snapped Chris, “you keep holding him down.”

  “Come off it,” said Jeff, “he’s not going anywhere. Little wolfy’s dead.”

  William’s stomach lurched, and his hand flew to the little knife.

  “He’s not dead yet,” said Chris, “so you fucking keep holding him down.”

  “I don’t think it’s a Company car,” said Danny.

  William didn’t think it was a Company car either. The motor sounded far too run down to be one of the fancy Company vehicles. Then it abruptly cut off, and the night seemed three times as silent as it had before. There was a low grinding squeal of an old car door being opened, and then the faint crunch of gravel underfoot.