Val grabbed her wrist. “Careful. It’s burning hot. Look.” He showed her his fingertips, already red. “I’m going to have a shitty blister. I hate blisters.”
She put her hand on his, pulling free from his grip. Crouching down, she put her hand over the shell, then grabbed it. She stood up, holding it out to him. “See? Cold.”
He held his hand out, and she dropped the bullet into his palm. He jerked his hand away, and the bullet dropped to the ground. He held his palm out, the red welt already beginning to show.
Danny grabbed his hand. “Don’t be such a baby.” She turned his palm to catch the light from the window. “I don’t think that’s a burn. Looks like allergic dermatitis.”
“Aller … what?”
“Like a chemical burn. An allergic reaction.”
“Right. So?”
John picked his way through the rubble towards them. “Yeah. So? Oh — nice burn.”
“Thanks.” Val waved his hand again, then clenched and flexed his hand a few times. “Let’s just keep moving. We’ve got to find Carlisle.”
“It could be silver. Or aluminum,” said Danny.
Val and John both looked at Danny. Val spoke first. “Silver?”
“A girl knows jewelery. These bullets. Lead’s very dull, a sort of metallic gray, right?”
“I guess.” John rubbed the back of his head. “I didn’t do very well at chemistry.”
“I did,” said Val. “She’s right.”
Danny nodded. “This metal’s lighter than lead. It’s more, well, silvery. It feels too heavy for aluminum, so … very high class.”
“Wait. These guys have silver bullets?” John held his magazine up to the light to get a closer look. “Shit. What, are they hunting, werewolves or something? We should grab these and melt ‘em down for cash. It’d supplement my meager gym wage.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Gym?”
“I’m a personal trainer.”
“You look like a cripple.” Danny shrugged. “Maybe your clients are more understanding.”
John opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “Hey. I was mugged, remember?”
“I remember. Anyway, werewolves? What are you, a kid? This is some signature stuff. Like a gang sign.” Danny looked out the window. “I’ll bet it’s all over the news. ‘Silver murderers strike again,’ or something.”
“Maybe.” John looked down at his chest. “Really? A cripple?”
Val stared down at the bullet on the floor, then the burn on his hand. He looked up, pointing at a doorway. “Surgery’s down there. That’s where I last saw Carlisle.”
John looked at the door. “The door that’s torn in half. That door?”
Val nodded. “Yep.”
Danny started picking her way through the rubble towards the doorway. Val joined her, his hand out to steady her. She ignored it. “Easier than walking through the rocks at the beach. There are waves there.” She turned to John. “You coming?”
John watched as they walked through the broken doorway, into the flickering light in hallway beyond. He looked back down at the magazine in his hand, then let it drop to the ground. “It’s going to be one of those days.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The hospital was getting quieter, the gunfire reduced to a few brief chatters of noise here and there. The lighting in the corridors was sporadic, the fluorescent tubes flickering. Val pushed open the door leading into the surgery anteroom; the sprinklers were on, covering the floor tiles in water. He looked through the water, wiping his face. His hand came away covered in wet plaster dust; Val held it up in front of his face, watching as the milky rivulets ran and started to turn clear.
He stood in the falling water, turning his face to the ceiling. It felt like rain on his skin. He arched back and—
Running after prey. The rain covers us, the fury of the storm. We call to Pack, shoulder by flank. Tooth and claw, breath steaming in the dark—
John’s hand clapped him on the shoulder. “You okay?”
Val shook himself. “Sorry. Lost myself for a bit there.”
John’s eyes searched his face. “Well, I don’t want to belabor the point, but it’s fucking raining in here. I’m getting cold.”
Danny snorted behind them. “You’re such a baby.”
“Hey. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt. You’ve got a jacket.”
“You’re still a baby. You want to wear my jacket? Really. I don’t need it.”
Val looked down the corridor. He didn’t feel cold. He felt—
We the Night. We are alive.
He looked at his feet, pink water pooling by his shoes. His shirt was running clear, leaving him clean. “We need to get Carlisle. God damn, I hope they’ve finished sewing her up.” Val walked forward, feet sloshing through the standing water. He reached the chair he’d sat in waiting for Carlisle — Christ, it had only been about a half hour ago. The surgery door was closed in front of them. He pushed it open slowly, revealing a small room with sinks against one wall, and another door leading to the surgery proper. He pushed the door all the way open, standing in a room that looked for all the world like an industrial kitchen.
John looked at the sinks. “I’ve always wanted to say this. ‘We need to scrub in.’”
Danny looked at the sinks. “Actually, yeah. If she’s in surgery in there—”
“We don’t have the time.” Val walked up to the door, his shoes squelching with each step. A small glass window was set into the door. Looking through, he could see a bed draped in surgical green, with — there — Carlisle out cold. A doctor was using some metal clamps and string. Stitching — she was being sewn up. There was no one else in the room. He pushed the door open.
The doctor looked up. “Hey! You can’t be in here!”
Val saw the sweat beading on his forehead. “Sir. Do you remember me? I came in here with my friend a few hours ago.”
The doctor continued to look at him. “Yeah. I remember you.”
“We’ve come to get our friend and get out of here.”
The doctor snorted, the fabric of his surgical mask puffing out slightly. “You and everyone else. My team’s run off.”
“But you’re still here.”
“I told you I’d take care of her. I won’t leave until it’s done.”
Val looked at the doctor’s hands which hadn’t moved. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but … I dunno. Are you almost done?”
The doctor looked back down, resuming his stitching. “Almost. And then we need to get your friend to the recovery ward.”
Val walked along the edge of the room, taking in the stocks of bandages, linen, and surgical gauze. “Are these..?”
Danny joined him. “Looks like bandages to me. We’ll need to get some of these together.” The doctor looked up at them, then sighed and got back to his work.
“John.” Val gestured. “See if you can find a bag or something.”
“A bag?”
“It doesn’t need to be Gucci. It needs to hold shit. Plastic, whatever.”
John looked about the room, then at the surgical setup. He walked over to a linen bag held upright in a frame. It had a big red logo, the symmetrical biohazard symbol stenciled bright and clean. “What about this one?”
The doctor paused again. “That’s surgical waste.”
“Right, but it’s a bag.”
“It’s…” The doctor gave up as John upended the bag on the floor. Stained bandages and gauze fell out over the floor. He brought the bag over to where Val and Danny were sorting through the supplies on the shelf. John held it open as they tossed items inside.
“Best I could do.”
“It’s fine.” Val turned his head to the doctor. “Hey. Do we need any medicine?”
The doctor looked over at them. “You’re stealing supplies from a hospital, and you want my help? No thanks. I know your friend here is a police officer. That’s why I’m here. I’ve no idea why you’re in here though. I’d have
had you thrown out if my staff were here.”
John put the bag down and walked back to the doctor. He put on the John Miles megawatt smile. “Sir. I understand.”
“I don’t think you do—”
“No really. Look at me.” He lifted his shirt up, showing the bruising along his rib cage. He winced a little, the megawatt smile dimming a few shades. “My buddy here? Came to get me just before. This place is under siege.”
The doctor didn’t say anything.
“No, really. That look on your face? That’s what I thought too. There are soldiers and police and all kinds of shit out there. Lights are out, sprinklers are on. Your staff have run off.” John paused. “Assholes. Really. But I get it. It’s not what you thought you were going to get at work when you had your morning coffee, am I right?”
After a brief pause, the doctor nodded.
“I thought so. Look. I’m pretty sure that if we watched the news, this would be a disaster. There’d be police swarming in through the windows on national TV. It’s just not safe.” He gestured at Carlisle. “I don’t know this chick. But a friend of a friend. That’s how I roll. We’re going to get her out to somewhere safe. And to do that? We’re going to need a little help. Like some surgical supplies. Can you do me a solid, and help out here? We’re not trying to steal anything. We’re like you. We’re trying to save someone.”
The air conditioner shut off then, leaving the room quiet except for the steady drip of water. The doctor looked at John, then his eyes flicked to Danny, and finally to Val. “Prophylaxis.”
“What?”
“You’ll need to clean the wound. Antibiotics. They’re on the shelf.” He went back to his stitching.
“Right.” John nodded at him. “Thanks.”
“Look for a bottle labeled ‘amoxicillin.’” The doctor didn’t look up. “Don’t forget tape.”
Val finished stuffing the sack, then tied it off with the rope at the top. He held it towards Danny.
“Why do I get to carry the diapers?”
Val nodded at John. “Because he’s a baby. You said so yourself.”
Danny mumbled something.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I really didn’t.”
She grabbed the bag from him. “You can imagine it then.”
“I can imagine some pretty bad things.” A smile tugged the edge of his mouth.
She grinned at him. “Don’t get nasty. Wait until we get somewhere private.”
John sighed. They both looked at him. “Seriously. Here?”
The doctor cleared his throat. They all turned to face him. “I’m done. Try not to move her. The bullet went straight through, so we didn’t have to do too much. But the stitches will tear if she overdoes it.” He gestured at Carlisle’s unconscious body. “Normally we put them in a recovery ward to wake up easy, but … well. She’ll be out for a while yet. You probably want to grab some tramadol as well.”
“Doc.” John clapped the doctor on the shoulder. “You got a ride out of here?”
The doctor tugged down his mask, showing a surprisingly young face. The shadow of a tired smile cracked through for a moment. “I bike to work. I’ll be fine. Take care of her.”
“Great. Look, thanks.” The megawatt smile cracked on full. “I mean it. And we will.”
“Oh!” The doctor went to a cupboard and opened it, pulling out a small brown paper-wrapped bundle. “Her things. Sorry. We had to cut her out of her clothes. Wallet’s there. Her badge, ID. And … her gun. You better get going.”
John took the bag from him, then tossed it to Val. “Thanks again, doc.”
• • •
Val held the brown bag under his arm. He pushed through the door into the emergency reception with the other arm. “Now, when we get—”
“You.” The voice cut him off. Val stopped, John hitting him in the back with the gurney carrying Carlisle. She was still out cold. “Mr. Everard. This is a pleasant surprise. Ah. And who are your friends? Who is that on the gurney?”
Val looked at the other man, taking in the close-cropped hair. Then he looked at the two men who were with him. Soldiers, dressed in black. “You’re … the guys. From the—”
“From the police station, yes.” The man looked Val up and down. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Tim Spencer. The police station was regrettable, but our orders were clear. Here? Our orders provide more,” and he gestured with his fingers, “wiggle room.”
Val looked around the room, taking in the bodies. His eyes noticed a figure near a wall. An older woman, her name badge still attached to her chest. Mavis. “This?” Val’s arm took in the room around them. “‘Wiggle room?’”
“It might be hard to believe, but this wasn’t our doing.” The man looked the two soldiers next to him, then at the bodies and debris surrounding them. “To be strictly accurate, it was Volk.”
“Volk?”
Spencer continued as if Val hadn’t spoken. “We thought it was Volk at the police station. Regrettable, as I said.”
Danny pushed forward. “This Volk? He carries enough guns to kill this many people by himself?”
A smile tugged the edge of Spencer’s mouth, never reaching his eyes. “Volk provoked us, Miss..?”
“Miss Go-Play-Hide-And-Go-Fuck-Yourself.”
“Ah. Like I said, we were provoked.”
Danny stared at the man. “All these people? They provoked you?”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Regrettable, but I don’t want to dwell on the past. Mr. Everard, you have something we want.”
Val closed his mouth. “I do?”
“Yes.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask. What is it?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“You. I’d like to be fairly clear. This is not a request.” Spencer nodded towards them. “Squad? If Mr. Everard doesn’t wish to accompany us, execute his friends.”
John spoke up. “Wait. What?”
“You are?”
“This is not a game of who-the-fuck-am-I,” said John. “Did you just say you were going to shoot us if Val didn’t go with you?”
That false smile tugged at Spencer’s mouth again. “Yes. Squad!” The soldiers raised their weapons, one each trained on John and Danny. Instinctively, Val stepped forward.
We will die before Pack is taken from us.
Spencer nodded, taking Val’s step forward for assent. “Mr. Everard, I’m going to have to ask you to put these on.” He tossed a set of handcuffs at Val’s feet.
“You want me to put handcuffs on myself?”
“Yes. Or I can just shoot your friends. I can also ensure whoever is on that gurney never wakes up. Accidents happen in hospitals.” Spencer nodded to his men. “You have five seconds. Believe me, Mr. Everard. You will be leaving with me. Whether your friends are alive or not at the end of it is completely up to you.”
“Val, no—”
“You can’t—”
Val held his hands out. “Aren’t you afraid of hitting me? If you open fire. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want anyone to get shot. But if you shoot them, won’t you hit me? Maybe?”
“Five.” Spencer pulled a pistol out of his holster, and ejected a black magazine from it. He slapped in a red magazine, and cocked the gun. “Four.”
“You’re going to shoot them with silver bullets?” Val looked at Danny. “You were right. Gangland shooting.”
Spencer shook his head. “No, Mr. Everard. I’m going to shoot you with silver bullets. You’re perfectly safe from the regular kind. Three.”
“Christ! Why me?” Val’s hand still burned from where the silver had touched him before.
“You don’t know? Curious. I’m pretty certain it won’t kill you outright, but it will make you more … malleable. Two.”
“Look man. I picked up one of those bullets before. I got some kind of aller … derm…”
“Allergic dermatitis,” said Danny.
“Sure. I got a burn from touching it.” He held his palm out. “See?”
“Mr. Everard, do you know why I haven’t pointed this gun at you yet?”
Val thought for a moment. He scanned the room, looking for a way out of this. This is a really crazy day. “No clue.”
“I see.” Spencer lifted the gun, pointing it at Val.
Val’s lips pulled into a snarl. He took an involuntary step forward.
“Remember, Mr. Everard. Silver.”
It burns.
Kill it. It threatens Pack.
It burns!
Val’s mouth opened and closed a few times. No sound came out.
That faint smile touched Spencer’s mouth again. “As I thought. We’re almost out of time. One.”
The creature tore through the wall to the administrative area, showering the room with plaster. Val took a step back as it shouldered its way into the room. There was something — Christ, that’s a body — held in one massive, clawed hand. It looked at the seven humans in the room, leaned forward, and roared.
“Fire!’ Spencer spun on the spot and pulled his trigger, the pistol barking back at the creature. It ducked back, holding the body up in front of it, the bullets thudding into the corpse. Spencer’s pistol clicked empty. He ejected the magazine out, reaching for a fresh one. The creature pulled back and threw the body at him, knocking him clear off his feet.
Spencer’s men looked at him lying on the ground tangled up in the limbs of a corpse, then at the creature. They turned their weapons from John and Danny, firing into the thing, guns hammering.
Val turned to Danny. “Go! Get Carlisle clear!”
Danny looked at him. “I—”
The creature grabbed one of the soldiers off his feet, holding him up. To the man’s credit, he didn’t stop firing, the bullets smacking into the thing’s face and chest. It roared its defiance back at the man, slapping the rifle out of his hands. The rifle spun across the room, embedding itself into the wall above John’s head. The creature grabbed one of the man’s arms, and its shoulders bunched. With a bright spray, the man’s arm tore free, his screaming shrill. It tossed the arm into the middle of the room, swapping the man to its other hand, then tore off his remaining arm.
The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy Page 15