by Brant, Jason
The breeze had cleared out some of the dust from the explosion, which had erased most of their tracks leading into the hippie store. At the rate the temperature kept dropping, though, he half expected to see snow soon. Then they’d have a hell of a time moving around the city without being tracked.
“No radio.” Cass stood with a grimace. “And no indication of where the rest are.”
“Let’s head back to where we split up. Maybe we can get a sense of what direction they went.”
Cass watched him for several seconds, brow furrowing. “What about Lincoln? Should we be running through the city, especially in our condition, when our son is back at The Light? What if something happens to us while we’re out here?” She tapped the hood of the SUV. “What if one of us falls out a window and breaks their stupid neck?”
“Hey, that was all part of my master plan.” When Cass didn’t return his smile, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I wish we could go to him right now, but we’d never be able to live with ourselves if we left Emmett and Greg out here to fend for themselves.”
Cass averted her eyes. “I know. It’s just—I’m tired of living like this. When do we get a chance to enjoy having a family? Will there ever be a time when we’re not on the run? When we’re not worried about starving to death or running from vampires or fighting off sadistic rednecks?”
“I don’t know.” Lance pulled her close, put her head against his chest. “But I think The Light will give us the best chance to do that. That means we need to take care of a few assholes out here first.”
A few drops of his blood fell into Cass’ hair.
She pulled away from him. “Are you bleeding on me?”
“Yup. I like what it’s doing to your hair. I’ve always wanted to date a redhead.”
“That’s disgusting.” Cass ran a hand over the messy braids that twisted her hair, her fingers smearing the red even more.
“That’s so hot.” Lance started down the street, heading to where they’d split from Emmett and Greg. “Let’s get this over with.”
Cass walked beside him as best she could, her limp more pronounced than it had been a few hours earlier. “We’re gonna have a little talk about that redhead comment when we’re finished.”
Lance’s eyes widened. He tried to change the subject. “I should have known that wasn’t Joe Bob Briggs.”
16
Gunshots roused Greg from an uneasy slumber. The impenetrable darkness surrounding him made it difficult to tell if his eyes were open or not. He waved a hand in front of his face, couldn’t see anything at all.
He remained motionless for a few seconds, trying to get his bearings. Where he was, how he got there, and what was happening remained a complete mystery.
A voice ordered someone to stop.
The command echoed as if he’d awoken in a cavern.
Where in the crap am I? he thought.
A dull ache radiated from his shoulder, reminding him that he’d been shot. The pain flooded him with memories. An explosion had destroyed part of the block, had vaporized his friend. He remembered being shot, trying to escape from the street.
But everything after that was hazy.
He must have passed out at some point. However, he had no idea how long he’d been out and couldn’t fathom how he’d ended up in complete darkness.
The smell hit him next.
A rank, spoiled stench that anyone alive would recognize.
Vladdies.
They were close.
Damn close.
Greg’s arms felt weighted as he attempted to raise them. One wouldn’t cooperate at all. He’d expected the gunshot wound to hurt more than it did, but the pain was manageable at the moment.
Until he attempted to sit up.
A volcanic eruption poured from his shoulder, enveloping the rest of his body. He choked back an agonized scream as he flopped down. The pain immobilized him, barely allowed him to breathe.
“You get after him. I’ll stay here,” a man yelled.
“What’re you gonna do?” another asked.
“Did you see both of them running out of here?”
“Guess not.”
“That means the other is here somewhere. I’m going to search around, see where he is.”
Greg braced himself, attempted to sit up again, ignoring the torment in his shoulder. He was almost in a seated position when his head smacked off something above him, sending him crashing down again.
He stayed on his back for several seconds, panting and wondering just where he was. Rather than trying to get up, he decided to roll over, see if he could crawl anywhere.
His fingers brushed something cylindrical.
After a few seconds of manipulating it in his hand, he realized he’d found a flashlight. His thumb depressed the power button, turning on a bright beam of light that cut through the darkness. He managed to shine it directly into his own face. The sudden illumination blinded him until he could get the flashlight aimed away elsewhere.
“What the—?” A series of boards and screws and metal elbow joints were above him. Some kind of fabric was stretched over the construction a few feet over his head, obscuring his view.
A curtain acted as a wall beside him.
He reached out to pull it back, but stopped himself as his fingers brushed the material. Whoever was out there might see the movement.
As if one of the Bandits heard him, a voice called out, “Where you at, boy?”
Greg bit his lip as he rolled to his stomach to keep from crying out in pain. Though he didn’t know anything about bullet wounds or shoulder injuries, he could tell the joint had suffered serious damage. His arm had some serious problems, too.
He waved the flashlight around, searching for a better hiding place. The beam illuminated more support struts and dozens of black cables snaking across the floor. He paused, taking in his surroundings again, still trying to figure out where he was. He’d never seen anything resembling his current confines.
“That was a lot of blood out there, boy. You need some medical attention. Come on out and we’ll fix you right up.” The man’s voice was closer.
Much closer.
The idea the men who’d shot him would treat his wounds didn’t seem all that convincing. For some reason, he didn’t find the man sincere.
Greg managed to get on his knees, the top of his head bumping the wood supports above him. Using his good arm, he crawled forward, careful not to smack his damaged wing off anything. Worming through the beams and cables, he headed toward the center of the structure.
A beam of light flashed across an opening in the fabric ahead of him.
“You wouldn’t be hiding under that cage, would ya?” the man asked. “I always wanted to fight in of these things, ya know? Figured some of those MMA guys weren’t so tough. Shit, when you spent twelve years in a state pen, you harden up real good. Guarantee I’m tougher than some of them pussies were. I’m still alive and they ain’t, right? Can’t be that tough if you’re dead.”
Greg aimed his light ahead, careful not to let it illuminate the hole in the middle of what was apparently an MMA mat. Though all the crap spread around the area made it hard to see too far ahead, he managed to spot a crater in the cement floor ten feet away.
A chill froze him at the sight of it.
It was the entrance to a Vladdie nest.
When the man spoke again, it sounded as if he were standing just outside the cage. “I do miss watching those fights, though. Nothing like taking in a few guys kicking the ever living shit out of each other, ya know? Way better than a cock fight.”
Greg inched closer to the hole. If he could slide down into the entrance of the Vladdie nest, he might be able to hide out of sight of the Bandit. As dumb as the man sounded, Greg doubted he was stupid enough to climb down there and look for him.
Then again, only a lunatic would choose to hide there.
His options were disappearing by the second, though.
He had to hide
or fight.
Even with both arms, he’d never been much of a fighter.
And the dude outside the cage had a gun.
Greg crawled as fast he could, almost collapsing when his dangling hand struck a two-by-four. He gritted his teeth, waited for the agony to pass. Spittle fell from his quivering lips as he suppressed the urge to scream.
When the pain had dulled, he slid closer to the hole, careful not to make a sound. The stench assaulted his senses. Rank air filled his nostrils, coated his tongue.
A watery sheen blurred his vision.
He almost gagged as he reached the entrance of the nest, pausing inches away. The flashlight cut into the darkness below. The hole stretched four or five feet wide. Vladdies had clawed their way through an arm’s length of concrete to enter the arena. After descending down at least ten feet through compacted earth, the entrance angled to the side, disappearing underneath Greg.
He had no clue how he would manage to climb down there with only one good arm.
The Bandit said, “Smells like we crawled into Satan’s asshole down here. I never did get used to the reek of those damn things, ya know? Kinda reminds me of this guy in the clink. Lived two cells down. Fucker never used soap in the shower for some stupid reason. A few guys in the block liked to pass him around, if you know what I mean. Smelled kinda like this. Like—”
Greg tuned out the blathering psycho. He glanced over his good shoulder, half expecting to see the Bandit poking his head through the curtain. The voice had moved so close Greg thought he might have already crawled under the cage. Though space behind him remained empty, the man’s flashlight illuminated the floor just outside the structure.
Knowing he only had seconds to spare until the Bandit peered inside and spotted him, Greg threw himself over the edge of the hole.
He descended headfirst into darkness.
The heavy, rank air cocooned him as he fell.
The middle of his back landed first, bouncing off the curve in the earth. Black dots swam in his vision. A buzzing settled in his ears, drowning out the blathering man above. Greg’s lungs failed to cooperate from the impact, panic seizing him as he feared he’d punctured something.
Roaring pain shot from his shoulder as he slid down the sloped ground. His nervous system was aflame, insides roiling like molten lava.
He remained motionless for an untold length of time, gasping for air, waiting for the misery to pass. As his vision finally cleared, he saw the Bandit’s light fall upon the opening above him.
“Hello in there,” the man said. “I see your blood on the floor, you dumb shit.”
Greg spotted his flashlight on the ground a few feet away. It was pointed away from the tunnel entrance, thank God, not giving away his whereabouts. He managed to flip over and crawl toward the light, grabbing the cylinder and switching it off. His limp arm dragging along behind him, he hauled his broken body down the tunnel, away from the entrance.
The eye-watering odor of the infected churned his stomach.
“Did one of them demons get ya?” The Bandit’s flashlight appeared in the opening as Greg managed to crawl out of sight.
He stopped moving, not wanting to make a sound.
Held his breath.
The flashlight’s beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the slope of churned dirt just a few feet away. The light swayed back and forth a few times before disappearing.
The Bandit mumbled, “I’ll be goddamned.”
Another man called out, his voice so far away Greg could barely make out what he said. “You find him?”
“He’s down in a demon nest. Dunno if he crawled in there or if one of ‘em took him.”
“Go down and find out.”
“Fuck that.” The closest man huffed as he crawled away from the hole, his voice fading. “He’s screwed either way, ya know? No chance in hell he can climb back out.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You wanna haul your ass down there and take a look?”
They continued arguing as Greg finally let out a quiet breath, leaning against one of the walls. Sweat poured down his face, stung his eyes. He wiped at it, managed to smear dirt across his cheeks and nose.
The voices grew quieter as the men walked farther away from his hiding place. He waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore, then stayed put for another ten minutes.
Warm air wafted over him from deeper in the cave. The draft carried the stink of untold vampires hiding in the darkness. As he waited for his pursuers to get farther away, he shivered in the fathomless black that surrounded him. The weather must have taken a dramatic turn since that morning, because he was damn cold as he sat there.
Nothing but silence came from above him.
Greg switched on the flashlight.
Only a few paces of the tunnel were visible before it sloped down again, disappearing below a curve. He looked at the mouth of the nest, frowned at the steep slope leading to the concrete.
Crawling toward it, he got to a point where he could stand. He craned his neck to see the entrance. It was way too high for him to jump and grab hold of the floor under the MMA cage. Even if he could get a good grip, which he doubted was possible because of the sharp edges of the concrete, he knew he couldn’t haul himself up with one good arm.
He raised his arm above his head, gauging the distance.
Several feet of space spanned between his fingertips and the floor.
Kicking the toes of his shoes at the dirt, he chipped a hole in the slope, attempting to create a foothold.
The ground crumbled away as soon as he put any weight on his foot.
He backed up as far as he could, then ran up the slant and jumped, reaching for the edge of the concrete. He didn’t come close before falling back to the slope. The angle of the ground threatened to buckle his ankles as he fought to retain his balance. Even if he hadn’t suffered a gunshot wound, he wasn’t athletic enough to pull off a move like that.
He paused at the bottom of the slope, sucking air, ignoring the sting in his chest with each breath.
Even if he had two hands, he didn’t see how he could climb out. The entrance wasn’t designed for men, but for powerful, mutated beasts that could vault themselves great distances with ease.
That left one option.
He’d have to navigate deeper into the nest to search for another exit that was easier to climb out of. To find safety, he’d have to descend into the belly of the beast.
Hope he didn’t wake up the monster.
“This sucks, bro,” he whispered.
Angling the flashlight into the tunnel, Greg descended into hell.
17
After handing The Wildman his drone, Brandon had gone to check on Charlie. He’d promised to meet The Wildman and Eifort on the roof soon, but had insisted on a few minutes to see his girlfriend first.
If he were being honest with himself, he needed some decompression time, too.
The entire building felt like one giant pressure cooker. Survivors ran around in all directions, panic consuming them. The defensive measures of The Light were designed to keep the demons at bay.
The sharpened metal welded to the building was to keep the creatures from climbing the walls, stealing through the windows. The spotlights mounted on the ground floor and roof kept the demons from getting too close.
But they’d spent a minimal amount of time working to prevent human attacks. Sure, they had metal plating covering the windows on the first few floors, but that would only do so much.
Since Brandon had lived in the building, they’d never suffered a direct attack from anyone. The Bandits had taken their people a few times, but that only happened when someone had strayed too far from The Light on their own. The Bandits liked to pick off stragglers, not take on the entire building at once.
The brazen attacks that morning had changed everything.
Damage to the building had everyone freaking out.
He was, too.
They’d a
ll grown so accustomed to fending off monsters every night, they’d failed to anticipate a handful of biker-looking assholes. They felt more comfortable fighting the demons than the humans.
Charlie waited outside his room as he exited the staircase. When she spotted him, she charged forward, threw her arms around his neck. He grimaced at the impact, feeling the pull of his stitches, hoping one hadn’t popped.
“I was getting so worried.” Charlie kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips. “Everyone is saying The Bandits are trying to steal our home and kill the men and enslave the women and—”
“Whoa, whoa. Hold on a second.” Brandon took hold of her arms, easing her away from him. He held her gaze for a beat, said, “We’re going to be all right.”
“But that explosion—”
“I’m helping our new friends take care of it.” Brandon was amazed at the words spilling out. His newfound confidence surprised him. He liked how strong he felt in that moment. “I won’t let anything happen to us.”
The rigidity in her shoulders softened.
“Besides,” he said, “There isn’t a whole lot those buttholes can do from out there. They can shoot at us, but we can shoot back. They can’t get close enough to the building to hurt us.”
“But we don’t even know where they are.” Charlie melted in his grip, reaching out to hug him again. “What if they shoot out our lights? The demons won’t have any trouble getting to us when it gets dark and—”
“They won’t.” Brandon buried his face in her hair for a moment, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, the strawberry lotion she used that drove him crazy.
He knew then he loved her.
Truly, madly, and deeply.
The thought had crossed his mind more than once over the past few days, but he was smart enough to realize those feelings were partly lust. Being with the girl of his dreams had clouded his judgment, made it difficult to think clearly.
But this was different.
His mind was clear, thoughts concise.
He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the evil men outside, the beasts beneath the city. Yes, he most definitely loved her.
