The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)
Page 30
“It’s reckless. We don’t know what we’re up against.”
“It’s an order. Now go.”
“Did she just pull rank on us?” Dade lets out a bemused laugh, but obliges, retreating with Xan.
I leap up onto the foot-wide divider between the two escalators and spring effortlessly down into the lobby. I charge the target, preparing to make use of the new gadget Jiro has rigged: a retractable sword. The silver blade runs down half the length of my arm, pointed inward until I push in the trigger on my wrist, which launches it out to become an extension of my arm.
It slices open the sleeve of my new leather jacket as it arcs out, a cause and effect I hadn’t considered until it was too late. A little heads up from Jiro would’ve been nice.
The demon wears a hooded trench coat, similar to the cloak I’d just shed. He is easily a foot taller than me. He senses my approach and spins around, throwing open his coat. A red glow emits from his arm, nearly blinding me.
“Oh shit.”
I slide like a baseball player determined to steal home plate. Except this catcher is armed.
Flames shoot past, over my head. I roll on my side and thrust the sword through his abdomen, into his chest at an upward angle, piercing the heart.
As the air cools above me, I crane my head upward to better assess the damage. Since he’s not a wolf, the silver blade won’t deal a fatal blow unless it’s to decapitate him, which isn’t happening from this angle.
But this isn’t a typical vampire. This thing is some sort of demon, a breed I’d not had the pleasure of encountering previously.
A breed that doesn’t share our aversion to fire or daylight? And can hide in plain sight? A new race of vampires?
Perhaps he is the upgraded version. Until he catches my blade, that is.
Fangs line his entire mouth. I observe this first hand as I study his frozen expression, mouth agape, from directly below him.
The creature stands rigid, smoke still rising from the device on his right hand as he moves it to his chest. His figure hardens, then crumbles into a pile of dust. From silver through the heart. I suppose even the upgrades have their flaws.
Slightly different from what I was expecting. But dead is dead.
I get to my feet, picking up a curious little black box that had been affixed to the creature’s ankle. Several students, their backs pressed against the wall, stand stunned, faces registering shock and horror.
Farther down the hall, others are fleeing out the exit. Screams echo through the building. I retract the sword and examine my jacket sleeve.
“Damn it, Jiro,” I mutter, then turn my attention to the remains, sifting through the ashes for the mini flame thrower device and anything else he might have had on him.
“Freeze!”
I turn to find a cop standing twenty feet away, his gun trained on me with shaking hands. Two more cops are running through the lobby entrance, guns drawn. Since when does campus security carry pistols? Times have changed.
I can’t help but wonder if the first cop on the scene had been privy to the before and after. Certainly some students had witnessed an eyeful.
His trembling says he had.
As his back-up closes in, they catch site of the trash can that’d fallen victim to the flame thrower. It burns steadily, flames shooting upward and outward.
Distracted by the fire, they look from me to it accusingly.
“Now that was not my fault,” I insist, pointing to the can.
Without warning I rush at them, launching vertically and easily clearing the stunned cops, the burning trashcan, and half the escalator’s distance to the second floor.
As I bound up the remaining length of the rail, one of the cops fires a shot. The bullet strikes the wall to the right of the escalators. Way off.
Seriously? With all these people around? Don’t make me come back down there and disarm you.
I pull my gun from the small of my back and fire at one of the oversized windows, peppering the glass with bullets. I hit the weakened pane at full force, yanking on my mask as I dive into the daylight.
A black Escalade with tinted windows jumps the sidewalk and lurches into the courtyard just as my feet strike the ground. The door opens and I fling myself inside.
Behind me people are shouting. I expect the cops emerged as we pull away, but I am too distracted by my burning arm to notice. With the sleeve ripped from Jiro’s contraption, my arm was left exposed to the sun. I hadn’t slipped on my ski mask completely, either; my neck seethes.
Tires squeal as we speed away from campus.
“What happened?” Xan is sitting shotgun, Dade at the wheel.
“Took him out. He had a little flame thrower strapped to his wrist. Seems a bit extreme given what he was hunting. It’s as if he was expecting heavily armed opposition.”
“No kidding.”
“You get it?” asks Xan.
“No, but I recovered this,” I toss the black box at Xan.
“What, was he on house arrest or something?”
“I think it’s what made him invisible.”
“Really? Sweet. Oh hey, you need blood?”
Xan tosses a packet back. I can already feel the burns healing, but I take it.
“Made a bit of a scene. Cops will be after us,” I look through the rear window; the coast is clear, but sirens aren’t far away.
Dade is cursing at the GPS screen, jabbing it with his index finger. I lean over the front seats.
“It’s cool. Make a left down this road. Careful though, it’s got some sharp turns,” I caution.
***
After several “mysterious” deaths on the campus caught our attention, we’d started an investigation of our own. Xan had even cleaned up the remains of one victim. The less humans know, the better. A serial killer draining the blood of his victims, eating flesh and removing organs, is best handled by professionals. The already dead kind.
For the past week I’d taken up residence on campus and staked out the area. This included devising several escape plans when things inevitably turned violent.
And we are currently executing one of them.
***
The road curves sharply.
“Buckle up,” Dade laughs, enjoying this a little too much.
“Maybe we should test that box out,” I suggest.
Xan fumbles with it, pushes in a button. It makes a sizzling sound akin to a bug zapper.
“How do we know if it’s working?”
“We may know soon enough…See that ravine? Take us down into it.”
“Are you serious?!” Xan eyes where I am pointing.
Dade simple nods and accelerates, sending us off-roading down into a rocky dried up riverbed.
“If we blow a tire we’re screwed,” Xan has a death grip on the dashboard.
I ignore him, looking around.
No sign of police pursuit; the sirens are fading.
The gorge leads us into a tunnel; a safe haven devoid of sunlight to escort us out of the city and back to base. We all let out a sigh of relief as the vehicle plows through its entrance and we are consumed in familiar darkness.
About the Author
S. L. Eaves is a Philadelphia area native who received undergraduate degrees in film and writing from University of Pittsburgh. She returned to Philadelphia to earn her MBA in marketing from Drexel University while freelancing as a writer and brand consultant. She penned the first two books of The Endangered Series for Zharmae Publishing and went on to complete the series independently after the publishing house closed. Presently, she works in marketing and escapes into the world of fiction every chance she gets. Visit her world at www.writewithfire.com.
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