Oh, hell!
There is no nightmare worse than this reality.
Ignoring the cold numbness, the horrible premonition in the pit of my stomach, I turn to look for James. Of course, I don’t see him anywhere, but there’s evidence of his work. Only one of Elliot’s men remains upright, still shooting toward the advancing Hailstone soldiers. He’s across the street, screaming for backup into a handheld radio to soldiers who are otherwise engaged. I run in his direction in a diagonal line. He jumps when he sees me and changes his aim. I pull the trigger at the same time that a ball of electricity flies past me and strikes him in the chest, sending him into convulsing spasms that bring foam to his mouth.
I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, expecting to see Aydan, but I don’t. All I see is a couple of bat creatures swooping down, shooting their rifles, raining bullets on what I assume are IgNiTe fighters. But I can’t worry about Aydan or anyone right now, not when I’m so close to Elliot’s car.
Amazon Woman is the only one still shooting at Hailstone. She is so intent on her targets and so good at what she does that she hasn’t noticed every single member of her backup team is out of commission.
For no apparent reason, she stops shooting and goes eerily still. Then, in one sudden motion, she whirls, her eyes swiveling in all directions, searching for danger. She seems to be focused on the air in front of her, but when she doesn’t see anything, her eyes move further down the line and spot me running toward her.
We aim at each other.
I shoot.
She shoots, but, inexplicably, her arm jerks upward, and the bullet goes wild.
My shot strikes the car, right next to her hip. She rolls to the side, and I shoot again. I cut to the right, expecting her attack, but instead, she shoots to her left, toward empty space.
I stop, my heart collapsing to the bottom of my chest, cognizant of what’s just happened before my mind has a time to grasp the situation.
As if by magic, James materializes next to Amazon Woman. Eyes wide, he staggers backward and hits the ground. A starburst of blood blooms on his chest.
Chapter 55
“James!”
He’s crumpled on the floor, unmoving.
My eyes snap back to the Amazon. She’s staring at James’s body as if hypnotized.
A growl reverberates in my throat, but I can’t scream. Large blotches burst in front of my eyes, the color of rage. Fueled by pure hatred, I spring forward, aim, and pull the trigger.
The gun clicks.
Empty.
I hurl the weapon at the Amazon. It smashes against her cheekbone with a crunch. Slowly, she shifts her attention toward me and, for the first time, I notice she’s shot. Blood seeps from her side. Her body begins to turn, her gun changing targets. But she’s too slow.
I jump and round kick her extended arm. The gun pops out of her grip, hits the ground and skids under the car. As soon as my feet hit the blacktop, I release another kick, taking advantage of my momentum. The Amazon blocks it with both arms. She flinches, but barely stumbles back. I land in a crouch, and find myself in a defensive position as she throws a kick of her own.
She’s taller, with muscles as big as a bodybuilder’s, but she’s hurt, and I’ve got James to worry about. So I don’t think it a cheap shot when I jab her side, dig my fingers into the bullet hole and try to rip her in two. Blood spurs from her wound coating my hands. She yells and recoils in pain. Lowering her head, she rams forward and slams her curved horns into my ribcage. Air whooshes from my lungs. My side throbs with pain as if I’ve been slammed with a club hammer.
We roll on the ground. I maneuver myself on top and—from somewhere, even though my lungs ache and struggle for air—I manage to get the strength to pound my fist into her wounded side. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. The color drains from her face. Seeing my chance, I leap to her chest, take her by the horns with my bloodied hands and slam her head against the pavement. Her eyes go blank for good, rolling like two white balls on a pool table.
Wiping the blood on my pants, I stand and look at Elliot’s car. Its windows are tinted and cracked in a mess of spider webs caused by so many bullets. I can’t see inside. I waver between helping James and finishing what I set out to do today—what James, himself, set out to do. The last thought makes my decision easy. I walk to the car and reach for the door handle.
Before I can grab hold of it, however, the retractable delivery door begins to roll upward, filling the night with the sounds of whirling gears. Hand frozen in midair, my attention snaps to the widening gap between the loading dock and the door. The whole building seems to be yawning its mouth open, promising to vomit all its wrongness on top of whoever happens to be outside.
Before I realize I’ve changed my mind, I’m limping toward James, kneeling next to him and shaking him. “James!” I press two fingers to his throat and find a heartbeat. “JAMES!” I scream, right into his ear.
He blinks his eyes open and slams a hand to his wounded chest, wincing in pain. His fingers turn red as if they’ve been dipped in paint.
I spare a quick glance to the delivery door. It’s halfway open. Two bright lights shine from inside, blinding me. What the hell? I look away, my retinas flashing with the imprint of two white circles. Hailstone’s people, who are now upon us, split their attention between Elliot’s car and the opening gate.
“James, we have to get out of here.” I shift positions, plant my feet on both sides of his head and slide my hands under his arms. Leaning back, I pull him the way I came. James is so heavy I barely manage to move him a couple of feet. My calf smarts, making itself known again.
“Help me, damn it!” I order in the most commanding voice I have.
James shakes his head, seems to come to his senses, and begins pushing with his legs, trying to stand. All he manages to do, however, is shove himself backward, which isn’t much help.
The whirring from the delivery door stops. I look up, blink at the bright lights shining from the inside of the loading dock. My heart drops, limp with horror. The bright spots are headlights, the halogen lamps of the military Jeep Wrangler I saw in the weapon storage area, the one with the 50 caliber gun mounted at its back.
Behind the huge gun, a massive figure lets out an incensed war cry and proceeds to rip the night apart by unleashing a hellish bullet storm meant to annihilate anyone who stands in his way.
As it turns out, Tusks isn’t dead, after all.
Chapter 56
The sound is deafening—hammer blows inside my head, one after another, drilling, pounding, shattering my every thought. A million projectiles rip through the open gate, piercing the night indiscriminately.
Bullets strike in a semicircle as Tusks sways the huge gun in an arch. They hit the pavement, the hedges in the back, Elliot’s car and, in the end, swing all the way to the other side where Hailstone’s soldiers fall slack to the ground: flies trapped in a cloud of insecticide. Frantically, electrified by an unexpected source of strength, I drag James close to the wall, completely out of Tusks’s line of sight and the reach of his monstrous gun.
I kneel next to James, chest aching from exertion, vision blurring. My calf throbs like the heart of a giant. I half collapse against the wall, teeth bare as I hiss in pain. If I could rest for just a moment, only a short moment … but I can’t.
With a deep breath, I push away from the building, pull off my ski mask and throw it down. “You have to get out of here,” I say, bending over James to catch his gaze.
His eyes fight to focus. He blinks and examines my face carefully. “Marci,” he says.
It’s just my name, but it says it all. It says that he understands, that he sees, that he trusts. I nod. Something passes between us, wordless, but heavy and more meaningful than a thousand explanations, excuses or justifications.
A few Hailstone soldiers still stand. Tusks continues to unload bullets in a frenzy.
I press my mouth to James’s ear to make sure he can hear me over the m
addening din of the battle. “Take a deep breath and get out of here as fast as you can. That way.” I point west where IgNiTe is still raging its own battle against the flying nightmares. Maybe James won’t be better off that way, but his people are there. They should be able to help him better than I can. Besides I have a job to finish here.
Two actually.
“Do you understand?” I ask.
“No.” He tries to sit up and moans in pain. His torso is bathed in blood; his face as white and lifeless as a porcelain plate. “I can help.”
“Pshaw. You’re no help here,” I forcefully say. “We need you alive, so you get out of here. RIGHT. NOW.”
I don’t want to think of what would happen to James if he doesn’t get out of here. The torture I went through at Doctor Sting’s hands will be nothing compared to what they’ll do to him.
“But—” James’s protest is cut short by the sound of the Jeep’s engine roaring to life, followed by the unmistakable hum of the vehicle backing up. The brightness from the headlights retreats. Tires squeal. Tusks is retreating into the building, and I can only think of one reason for that.
“James,” I grab a handful of his IgNiTe jacket and shake him, “you get out of here. Don’t let my efforts be in vain. You hear me?” I don’t wait for his answer. Instead, I take the gun from the holster at his hip. I check it for bullets. It’s empty, but I have an arsenal in my pockets and luckily it’s the right match.
I stagger to my feet and limp a couple of steps to the door. When I reach it, I aim, my arms inside the building over the waist-high loading dock. The Jeep has retreated to the very back of the room. The mechanical sound of shifting gears echoes through the crate-filled area, then the vehicle speeds forward, tires whining, the acrid scent of rubber filling the air.
The Jeep rushes straight toward me, its headlights two beacons of doom. Pressing my entire body weight to the wall, I lean forward, aim high, and shoot. The Jeep’s windshield shatters, but the vehicle doesn’t slow. As it nears, I shoot at the tires and radiator. When the Jeep is only a few feet away, I drop backward and, lying on the ground, discharge the contents of the gun on the undercarriage as it hurls through the air above me.
For a moment, there’s absolute silence. The car’s tires spin uselessly against empty space. I blink in slow motion, watching the Jeep’s underbelly glide overhead, soaring like some strange bird from a parallel universe.
When tiny rain droplets pepper my face and the gray sky reveals its gloom, I roll to my stomach and watch as the Jeep slams into the ground, its temporary wings revoked by the laws of physics.
Barely rattled by the bone-jarring landing, Tusks jumps out of the driver seat and hops behind the machine gun. I struggle to my feet, hurry toward the Jeep and slam my back against its grill, just as the beast starts shooting, not even aware that I’m here. The whole car vibrates against me with every shot: a lethal massage device.
As I ponder what to do next, I throw a quick, worried glance toward James, but to my relief, the only thing left is a dark bloodstain. I hope he has enough strength to get out of here. We can’t lose him. I don’t see any hope for humanity if we don’t have enough people like him fighting for our survival.
Tusks’s machine gun bellows, imparting death on Hailstone at the speed of light. Spent cartridges ding, ding, ding, as they hit the ground. After a few beats, the weapon swings west, massacring the building in the process. I look to my left. It seems the remainder of Hailstone soldiers have retreated. I didn’t mind Tusks’s killing spree against his own kind, but now his efforts are focused in the wrong direction, the way I told James to run, and I can’t allow that.
Besides, I do have it in for the bastard.
Making up my mind, I scoot alongside the Jeep, my back pressed tightly against it. As Tusks imparts his indiscriminate carnage, the few that still fight on that side of the battle retreat, rounding the building as fast as they can. Bat creatures flap their wings and fly to the top of the roof for safety. A handful of men drop to their knees, then fall over dead, huge bullets piercing their backs.
I think of James, hoping to God he made it out.
Unable to help myself, I then think of Luke and wonder if he’ll make it, too. I hope he doesn’t, but it’s not important.
Tusks’s cackles are audible between bursts of bullets. Spent casings continue dinging on the ground: tiny bells presaging death.
As I make it to the driver’s door, I take a deep breath, push away from the Jeep and aim to shoot. Except the element of surprise I thought I had was an illusion and, as soon as my sight is set, Tusks’s leg kicks out and knocks the gun out of my hand. I freeze, regretting my overconfidence for only an instant. With no time to dwell, I go on the offense.
Determined to get him from behind that gun, I step onto the Jeep’s running board, grab hold of the roll cage and swing my legs. Carried by my momentum, I sail sideways and smash my boots against Tusks’s face. He stumbles backward, away from the gun, but doesn’t fall.
Unbalanced by the impact, I begin to drop into the back of the Jeep, but manage to spring back and land outside in a crouch, ready for the beast’s fury, which is sure to come.
I stare at him, waiting. His hands are pressed to his face, eyes oddly vacant. He takes a few more steps back, swaying. I stare confused, until his hands fall away and reveal the problem. Only one of his tusks remains. The other one is gone. It takes me a moment to compute what just happened: the tusk, I’ve kicked it straight in. I couldn’t have done that if I’d tried. For once a big favor, not a little one. His head rolls back limp, then his body topples, lifeless, over the back of the Jeep and onto the street.
For a moment, there is quiet. I look left and right. The place is empty, and I think it’s almost over. I straighten and turn to face Elliot’s car.
The moment has come, I think.
Limping, I move toward the sedan, searching the ground for a gun.
“Just a little further,” I mumble to myself.
At least that’s what I think until an incensed growl breaks the silence. I turn and face the building. Lyra and the long-tailed Eklyptor, Lamia, stand on the delivery platform, looking down on me with evil in their eyes.
Whipping her fifth extremity up in the air, Lizard Woman jumps from the loading dock and runs in my direction, a huge serrated knife in her hand. Lyra follows, taking huge leaps that put her ahead of Lamia in an instant. I look frantically at the ground, but the nearest weapon is too far.
Knowing my luck has finally run out, I look up to find that Lyra has already covered the separating distance between us. She stands in front of me, arm pulled back. How did she move that fast? Like a stone from a slingshot, her furry fist flies through the air and slams on the side of my face.
For a moment, I stand there, my whole world oddly numb and weightless. Then my legs give out and I collapse. In my last thought, before I pass out, I wish for death, because I know that what will be waiting for me when I wake up will be much worse.
Chapter 57
When I wake, the first thing that registers is a pair of eyes, staring into mine from ten inches away. I think of how odd they appear, of how terrifyingly familiar. At the idea, my brain awakens all at once and my heart lurches, slamming against my chest.
Not this!
Doctor Sting straightens, pulling his sour milk breath away from my nose. I’m lying on a bed with white covers.
“Good,” he says with a smile that reveals his squared-off teeth.
Whatever is capable of giving this creature pleasure can’t be good.
“She’s awake.” He addresses someone whom he regards sideways with those goat-like eyes of his. I refuse to look in that direction and stare at the false ceiling instead.
My mouth is bitter with fear. Images of endless, empty corridors flash before me—the passages that will, once more and forever, become my prison. I won’t be able to claw my way out again. I know it. My arms jerk protectively toward my chest. The covers rustle and I’m s
urprised to find I’m not restrained.
“Hello, Azrael,” an unmistakable, accented voice says from my left.
Elliot walks to the foot of the bed and regards me with raised eyebrows. His gold-flecked gaze sparkles with satisfaction.
He’s still alive. He’s still alive.
My throat closes. The rhythm of my heart becomes anything but steady. A whimper tries to force its way out of my mouth, but I cage it behind clenched teeth. Death was too much to wish for. Death, I don’t seem to deserve.
“Shall I be on my way?” Doctor Sting says, his words an almost incoherent noise to my ears.
“Sure, sure.” Elliot waves dismissively.
Doctor Sting walks away from the bed. My eyes dart around the room looking for his implements. He reaches a door. I imagine a closet full of pokes, knives, and cattle prods. But when he opens it, it’s just a regular door—one he uses to leave.
My whole body sighs with release. Whatever they plan to do to me won’t happen just yet. As my gaze reluctantly moves back to Elliot, I notice another person in the room: Lyra, sitting on an armchair. She acknowledges me with a curt nod, then stands and takes her place behind her boss. I remember Lamia rushing in my direction, but Lyra getting there first and knocking me senseless.
Fear returns, rolling in waves, crashing against the pit of my stomach with nauseating force. They watch me with small smiles on their faces. And I know I’ll melt into a puddle of tears and blood, if they don’t stop staring. My cowardice embarrasses me. After all I’ve been through, I should be tougher than this, but all I can think of is the one thing I won’t have.
A quick, painless death.
“Your performance last night was noteworthy,” Elliot says.
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