“Everyone fall back,” Jean ordered over the radio. He stepped out of the vehicle, carrying a black bullpup assault rifle. He brought the weapon up and returned fire on the shooters on the far slope.
Matt and Luiza neared the van. Luc jogged out to meet them. “Take her,” Matt said.
They helped Luiza up into the seat and Matt looked back at the battle behind them. Allan and Malcolm fought side by side, falling back toward the van. Susumu stood before them, swinging his naginata in fast, graceful strikes, cutting through the demonic ranks with lethal proficiency. Matt ejected a spent shell and reached for his bag. The mud-caked flap was open. It shouldn’t be open.
Panicked he reached inside. Water. No! Matt pulled it open with both hands and peered inside. The shells were gone. “I’ll be back,” he called, running back toward the battle
“Where are you going?” Luc cried, but Matt didn’t answer. He hurried to the water-filled pit. Pools of his blood still moved inside, tracking the oncoming demons. Swirls of burning succubus blood still moved over the surface. He splashed inside and felt along the bottom. Where are they?
He scooped up handfuls of mud and rocks, checking them only briefly before tossing them aside. They have to be here. He checked a fistful of white clay and saw two bronze shells. He shoved the filthy cases into his pouch and searched the same spot with both hands. He found one more. Come one. Come on. Come on. Two more. His fingers touched Akumanokira’s metal sheath and he pulled the katana out from the muddy water.
“Matt, fall back” Allan yelled. The Englishman ran past, headed toward the van, his shirt stained with blood. Malcolm jogged behind. A deep cut marred his chin.
A brilliant orange light illuminated the basin as a fiery ifrit came down the slope. Susumu still stood at the bottom of the ramp, bodies strewn at his feet. Many burned with demonic flames. Matt ejected a shell from Dämoren and loaded a fresh bullet.
The ifrit was nearly to Susumu. A blonde woman’s hair caught fire as the demon came up behind her. Screaming, she continued fighting, and lunged at Susumu with a metal baton. The samurai skewered her on his blade and stepped back onto even ground to face the fiery demon.
Matt loaded a second round and snapped Dämoren’s loading latch closed.
The Ifrit charged, and Susumu thrust the bladed staff at its chest. The ifrit dodged to the side just in time and closed the distance. Susumu moved back, swinging the naginata with him, slicing the demon along its side. Its flaming skin flared brighter as the enraged demon staggered, then rushed for the small hunter.
Matt aimed the revolver, but couldn’t get a safe shot without risk of hitting Susumu. A shape moved atop the ridge and Matt saw a white-skinned man crouched at the edge above the samurai. Matt brought the gun up and fired. The vampire jolted back and scrambled off into the shadows.
Susumu lurched at the sound, and the ifrit swiped at him. The stunned samurai held his ground, blocking the demon’s arms with an upswing, then circled the blade around and drove it into the ifrit’s chest. He pushed the impaled demon, and it fell backward. A jet of blinding white fire shot from the wound like a welding torch.
A small grin cracked Susumu’s firm face as the demon’s soul burned. He turned to Matt when a blur shot from the shadows and smashed into him. The samurai fell, dropping his weapon. The white-skinned man crouched atop him. He yanked a slender knife from Susumu’s back. The blade glinted in the light of the ifrit’s white fire and the vampire drove it in again.
“No!” Matt yelled, aiming Dämoren toward it. The vampire sprung up on top of the twenty-foot rise and into the shadows as Matt pulled the trigger. The bullet smacked into the clay cliff wall behind where it had been.
Susumu started to rise, then faltered. A red stain spread across his shirt.
Matt ran to the samurai, stooping for his fallen weapon, and helped him up. “Come on.”
“I can walk,” he said sharply.
“I know.” Matt hooked an arm under him and helped the struggling hunter toward the van. They moved slowly. Matt looked over his shoulder, worried the vampire might come back. Dämoren was empty.
Jean raced toward them, his sword at his belt and rifle up, sweeping the area. He fired a burst, followed by another. A half-empty magazine, marked with blue tape, clattered to the ground. Jean loaded a fresh one and continued firing at some unseen opponent. Red tape circled its bottom.
“I am fine,” Susumu snapped, but he didn’t make any move to remove Matt’s arm from under his shoulder.
“Sure you are.” A bullet whizzed past, answered by another rapid burst from Jean’s bullpup.
Luc ran up to meet them and put his arm under Susumu’s other side. The samurai didn’t resist.
They lifted him and hurried to the van’s open door.
“Jesus, he’s bleeding everywhere,” Malcolm said as he and Allan helped the injured hunter inside.
Allan already had his trauma kit out and guided Susumu half-conscious body onto the bench seat.
“Jean,” Luc bellowed over the sounds of gunfire. “We need to go.”
The white-haired hunter backed up, keeping his weapon trained on the hillside. Luc circled to the driver’s side and crawled in. More pops came from the darkness alongside the building, and Jean staggered.
He returned fire, but then the weapon fell from his hands. A red bloodstain spread down the back of the hunter’s jeans below his black vest.
“Jean,” Malcolm cried running to him. Matt followed.
The tall hunter turned. More blood ran down the front of his pants. A bullet hole marked his stomach.
“God damn it,” Malcolm yelled, catching the hunter before he fell. More shots struck the ground around them.
Matt grabbed the fallen rifle and fired at the shadows . “Move him. I’ll cover you!” He peered through the rifle’s small, built-in scope. A robed figure fled from the metal building clutching a small duffel bag. Matt squeezed the trigger and the figure fell.
The van’s engine roared behind him. Moving backwards, Matt laid a quick stream of fire across the ridge. The gun’s bolt clicked. Empty.
Turning, he raced to the vehicle. He slammed the side door closed once Malcolm had pulled Jean inside past where Allan desperately worked to stop Susumu’s bleeding. Bullets pinged through the open passenger door beside him, blasting out shards of plastic paneling.
“Go!” He jumped into the passenger seat.
Luc floored the accelerator, gravel sprayed the underside of the vehicle and the van took off. Matt yanked his door shut, spilling the cubed remains of its window into his lap.
They tore through the mine pit, circling the wide lagoon. The van rumbled and shook, jostling the hunters inside. Matt grabbed the handle above the window, fighting keep steady.
“He’s dying!” Malcolm yelled in the back.
“Give me a minute here,” Allan growled hunched over Susumu. “I can’t work any faster.”
The rear window exploded, sending more glass inside.
Luc yanked a hard turn and the van leaned dangerously to one side. A straight earthen ramp stretched up before them. He hit the gas and they raced up it.
“Luiza,” Allan said. “Can you give me a hand here?”
Matt turned to see the Brazilian sitting in the corner of the van, her teary eyes vacant.
“Luiza!” Allan yelled.
She blinked and looked around as if suddenly realizing where she was. Her eyes widened as she saw Allan, his hands pressing blood-soaked gauze over Susumu’s pale back. “Yes. Yes!” She reached over the seat, banging her head against the roof as the van hit another bump. “What do you need?”
Matt twisted to where Malcolm crouched on the floor, fighting to get a wadded cloth under Jean’s half open vest. Dark blood soaked the tan carpet around him. “Let me help you.”
“Zipper’s stuck,” Malcolm said, his teeth clenched.
Matt crawled down with him and jerked the heavy-duty zipper. It didn’t move. He gripped the coarse cloth in o
ne hand and yanked the metal tap. It peeled open, revealing a red-soaked shirt beneath. Malcolm pressed the wadded shreds of his own shirt against the dying man’s top okin as the van crested the slope and sped out into the night.
Chapter Twelve
“Keep holding pressure,” Malcolm said.
Matt pressed the cloth tight. Jean’s blood oozed between his fingers. The van jostled, knocking Matt hard against the driver and passenger seats on either side. “He’s not breathing.”
Malcolm crouched over Jean’s body, pumping his palms into the man’s chest. He twisted, fighting his cramped angle on the van’s floor and began mouth to mouth.
Tires squealed on wet pavement as the van took another hard turn. Matt leaned closer, trying to keep Jean’s body steady. His knees ground into some of the sharp bits of broken safety glass scattered on the floor
“Come on, Jean,” Malcolm yelled, starting another set of chest compressions. “Stay with us!”
“Luc,” Allan said, from the bench above where he and Luiza worked on Susumu. “Where are we going?”
“Away from here,” Luc answered.
Malcolm gave Jean two solid breaths of mouth to mouth. “Jean will die if we don’t get him to a doctor.”
“And tell them what?” Luiza asked. She held a clear IV bag over the back of Susumu’s seat. “Bullet wounds. Stabbings. The police might already know about the shootings.”
“Then we’ll leave him on the hospital’s curb! He’ll die if we don’t.”
Sweat dripped off Matt’s face despite the cool wind blowing through the van’s broken windows. Beneath Jean’s half-lidded eyes, his pupils were wide. Black. Malcolm continued CPR, but the hunter’s eyes never changed.
“Come on, Jean!” Malcolm yelled.
“Mal.”
Malcolm blew into Jean’s mouth.
“I think he’s gone,” Matt said.
“Shut the fuck up!” He continued compressions. “Stay with us, Jean.”
Matt frowned. He loosened pressure on the bandage. The wound didn’t bleed.
Malcolm didn’t stop. “Come on, Jean. Stay with me.” He continued the rhythmic pulses on the dead man’s chest, stopping only to give mouth to mouth before continuing. “Stay with me. Come on. Come...” Malcolm’s voice cracked. He stopped, crouched over the fallen knight, then looked up to meet Matt’s eyes.
Matt saw the pain, the hopelessness and rage. “I’m sorry.”
Malcolm chewed his lip. He opened his mouth to say something then looked up to Allan and Luiza. “How’s Susumu?”
“I think we got the bleeding.” Allan said ruefully. “He’s lost a lot.”
“Can you save him?”
The van lurched around another turn.
Allan shook his head. “I don’t know. He needs fluid, and I’m out of saline. If we got him to hospital they could—”
“Arrest him,” Matt said. “Luiza’s right. The police probably know about the museum by now, maybe even the quarry.”
“They can’t prove his involvement,” Allan said.
“But they’ll investigate,” Matt said. “He’s obviously foreign, doesn’t speak French, and someone clearly attacked him. Besides, we’re driving a van covered in bullet holes!”
“He’ll die,” Allan pleaded.
“They’re right,” Malcolm said. “We can’t take him to the hospital. Not in Limoges.”
Allan’s eyes widened. “What? So it was fine when it was Jean, but not Susumu?”
Malcolm shook his head. “No. I... They were right. Do you have the equipment for a transfusion?”
The Englishman snorted. “We need blood.”
“Then take ours,” Malcolm barked. “What type is he?”
“O positive. No...” Allan scrunched his eyes. “Negative.”
“Sure? O negative?” Malcolm asked.
Allan let out a breath. “Fuck. Check the database. I have it in there.”
Luiza retreated to the rear set and removed her phone. The screen’s light filled the car. A long smear of Susumu’s blood ran the length of her jaw. “I can’t get to it.”
“It’s under Profiles,” Allan said.
“I know that,” she said, her voice rising in irritation. “I mean, it’s not working. I can’t get in.”
“What?”
“It’s just a blank screen.” She turned the phone toward him, filling the van in blue light. “See?”
“Fine.” Malcolm pointed to the front floorboards. “My bag.”
Matt twisted and reached for a black canvas backpack jammed in passenger floorboards. Chunks of broken glass and plastic door paneling gathered in the fabric’s folds.
“Middle pocket. My tablet is in a leather cover.”
Matt shook the bag, shaking off the debris and unzipped it. He felt inside, finding the smooth leather square and handed it to him.
“Alright,” Malcolm said, flipping the computer on. Pale light shone up into his face. Globs of red caked the gash at his chin. He tapped the screen with a bloody finger. “It’s frozen. Not letting me in.”
“They can’t both be down.” Allan reached for the tablet.
Malcolm handed it to him. “Seems that they are.”
“Virus?” Matt asked.
Allan checked the computer. “Can’t be. Different operating systems. Anya’s been really diligent about keeping the security tight on them. Did an update right before we left.” He tapped the screen and frowned. “Check your laptop.”
Malcolm snatched the tablet back. “We don’t have time for this! You entered Susumu’s medical info. What is he? Think, Allan.”
The Englishman pursed his lips. “O positive.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay. I’m A positive. Luc?”
“A,” Luc said.
“As am I,” Allan said.
“I’m O,” Matt said. “Positive, I believe.”
“Luiza?” Malcolm asked.
“Matt’s blood will work,” Allan said.
“Luiza?” Malcolm repeated.
She nodded. “I’m B.”
“Matt’s blood works,” Allan said.
“He’s possessed,” Malcolm snapped.
Matt’s jaw tightened. He’d hoped this issue was done. Forgotten.
“For Christ’s sake, man,” Allan said. “You know Matt’s not one of them.”
“No.” Malcolm turned to Matt. “He’s not.” He met his glare. “It isn’t that you killed them. It’s not even that you helped Luiza or Susumu out of there. But you risked your life to save Kazuo’s sword.”
Matt studied the knight’s face. He seemed sincere. “Then what’s the problem?”
“I can’t trust what’s inside you.”
“Mal,” Allan pleaded. “No known possession has ever come from a blood transfusion. If it were don’t you think demons would be lining up at donor clinics?”
“It’s still a risk. We don’t know what he is.”
“We know what he isn’t! Matt’s saved my ass twice now. He saved you. Those gunmen would have killed us. You said it yourself, he saved Akumanokira. He protected a holy weapon, a Valducan’s highest duty.”
Luiza closed her eyes and looked away. No one but Matt seemed to notice.
“A demon might kill another demon,” Allan continued. “But they’d never do that.”
“What do you think Susumu would want?” Malcolm asked. “You know how he feels about Matt. You believe he’d accept Matt’s blood?”
“I don’t give a damn what he’d want,” Allan said flatly. “Matt saved his life. Isn’t he honor-bound to him now or something?”
“You know he won’t accept that.”
Allan drew a breath. “We can’t lose another hunter. Not now. Not when we could save him.”
Malcolm sat quiet. “Luc, pull over somewhere safe. We’re doing the transfusion.”
#
“Let’s try this again.”
Matt pressed his tongue a
gainst the roof of his mouth as Luiza slid the needle up into the vein of his outstretched left arm. Allan’s failed attempts had already blown the one in his right. Frustrated, Allan had insisted someone else try it.
Voices crackled from the police scanner resting on the dash. So far no one had reported the shootout at the mine.
“Looks good.” Luiza fixed the hypodermic in place with a strip of white tape and loosened the rubber strap from Matt’s upper arm. A stream of red flowed down the clear tubing and into an empty plastic water bottle on the floor. Allan had rigged the makeshift bottle, claiming that direct person to person transfusion was dangerous. No means to measure the amount, and clearing the air from the line between them was tricky.
Matt let out a breath, feeling the surge of blood drain down his arm. “Good job.”
Luiza gave a weak smile, deepened by the shadows of the dome light above her. “I have to be good for something now, right?” Her chocolate eyes looked away.
Matt followed her gaze. Feinluna’s gilded hilt rested on the back seat beside them, its broken blade only extending an inch before ending. Jagged shards of steel lay on a rain-soaked cloth beside it.
Luiza ran a finger gently down the handle. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Can it...” Matt paused. “Can he be mended? Dämoren was broken once.”
She shook her head. “Not from this. He’s gone, Matt. I can’t feel him. That little piece that’s always there even when you aren’t touching one another. Like a blanket. Comforting. It’s gone. I feel...empty.” She drew a long breath and held it.
The tube of blood was on the arm closest to her. Matt reached across his body and placed the other hand on her hers. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a Toledo, forged in 1512. Sailed to the Americas in 1514. He was five-hundred years old. My grandfather’s blade. My father’s. And I let him die.” Luiza met Matt’s eyes, tears filling her own. “I killed him.”
“No. No, you didn’t. They killed him.”
“I’m not a knight anymore.”
Damoren Page 20
