by Mel Odom
“Perhaps I can help,” Shing suggested. She stood beside him in the darkness. The trees and brush had been cut back at least ten feet from the wall the whole length, but the grass was deep.
“How?”
Shing hooked her fingers together and bent down. “Step into my hands.”
Xander had to grin. “Do you really think you can boost me over the fence?” He glanced over the top at the stacks of cars on the inside. Somewhere toward the center, he saw the green glow that had to be coming from the stone dragon statues Willow had described. Anxiety filled him.
“We could try to find out,” Shing suggested, holding her hands together.
Feeling entirely stupid, especially since they were supposed to be attacking the junkyard from three separate directions and no one had really given any thought to breaking into the place, Xander put one foot into Shing’s hands. “You know, you could hurt yourself.”
“No. Drop the ax. I don’t want it falling on you.”
Xander dropped the ax. “And I wanted to apologize for what Buffy said back in the library. You know, when she accused you of getting Willow too far on the Other Side.” He stepped onto her interlocked hands.
“I did,” Shing said. “Willow would not have gotten that far without me. Buffy was right to hold me accountable. Balance yourself on my hands.”
Still somewhat amazed at Shing’s strength, Xander balanced himself on one foot. She seemed to hold him without too much trouble. “But how did you help Willow? You’re not a witch.”
“No,” Shing agreed, “but I’ve been there.”
“To the Other Side?” Xander almost yelped in surprise when Shing tossed him into the air. He tumbled, fighting to find his balance, expecting to crash into the fence at any moment, waiting to feel the barbed wire rake into his flesh if she got him that far.
Moonlight twinkled on the barbs as he sailed over, missing by at least two feet. Before he could get over his shock at her reply and the fact that she’d cleared the fence with him, the ground rushed up at him. He hit hard, trying to go loose so he wouldn’t break anything. His breath rushed out of his lungs in a barely concealed moan.
He glanced around, groaning on the inside. Old Man McCrory was rumored to keep really mean junkyard dogs. According to legend, the junkyard owner fed them table scraps, orphans, and whomever he found crawling over his fence.
Silent as a whisper, Shing landed in front of him with about as much strain as stepping down from a porch. She carried all her gear and Xander’s battleax as well.
“Look,” Xander said, “I know you’re not exactly normal. Leaping tall buildings in a single bound and being Ginsu chef with demons were the first clues. Oh yeah, and the whole Daniel Boone thing with the pistols.”
“There’s more.” Shing handed him the battleax as he climbed to his feet. She started moving instantly, a sword in one hand and a flintlock pistol in the other.
“More?” Xander asked, following her. “I can deal with more. In fact, I think I need to know more so I can deal with it.”
Shing turned quietly and put her face next to his. “Xander, please, now is not the time.”
Xander paused, inhaling the lemony freshness of her. “Okay. No problem. I’ll wait until it’s time. Time to discuss more. I’m a patient guy. No pressure here.”
She kissed him, her lips pressing coolly against him, making skyrockets blaze through his head. He kissed back, cupping the back of her head and pulling her to him, letting her know how much he wanted her. Things had a tendency to happen fast with him. That trait had gotten him into trouble before. Cordelia Chase had happened fast, the thing with Willow had happened fast.
But nothing had ever felt so right.
At least, that was what he was thinking now. He could even hear his heart pitty-pattering like the sound of running puppy feet—
Puppy feet? Those are big puppies. In fact, those are probably—
Xander broke the kiss and glanced toward the car stacks, watching the canine figures break free of the shadows. There were three of them, running low and hard, moonlight glazing their eyes white.
“Dogs,” Xander said in warning, pointing.
Then the lead dog breathed out a huge gout of flame that set the patchy grass nearby on fire.
“No,” Shing said, turning quickly and dropping into a fighting stance. “Those are liondogs!”
Oz tossed the thick car mat he’d brought from the van over the barbed wire. He glanced worriedly at Willow. “Think you can make it?”
Willow took a deep breath. Despite the hot chocolate she’d had, she still remained chilled and headachy from her experience. “I can make it. I’ll just need a boost up.”
Oz caught her foot and lifted her within easy reach of the mat-wrapped barbed wire. She carried a short sword across her shoulders. With the mat protecting her from the barbs, she scrambled over the fence, slid down to arm’s length, and dropped. She landed on the ground and banged gently against the hurricane fencing before she got her balance.
“Man,” Oz whispered from the other side of the fence, “I forgot how tall ten feet was.”
“Can you make it?”
“I’ve got to.”
Willow peered through one of the gaps in the hurricane fencing and saw Oz run toward her. He leaned into the wall, got a foot on it, and pushed up.
Even then, Oz barely caught hold of the top of the hurricane fencing. He pulled himself up and over. He was breathing hard when he landed.
“Okay,” he said, “which way?”
Willow gazed around the salvage yard, getting her bearings. Everything looked familiar, but it looked kind of different, too. But there was no mistaking the green glow toward the center of the junkyard. She gazed around, looking for the tallest stack of cars she could find that overlooked the area. She was terribly conscious of time passing by. The others were moving toward the eye of the storm as well, and if she didn’t get into place, they wouldn’t have a chance.
“There,” she said, pointing. She took off immediately, knowing Oz was at her back. She ran quickly but tried to keep from making any noise.
The moonlight in the real world wasn’t as bright as it had been on the Other Side when she’d been a ghost and walked through the junkyard. She stepped into one of the potholes by accident. Her shoe and pants leg got soaked, and this time the water was cold and wet. Her foot squished as she ran.
Willow weaved back and forth in the maze of wrecked cars, deep into the stacks of flattened vehicles. When she reached the stack she was searching for, she started to climb.
“Are you sure about this?” Oz asked. “Why can’t you do your spells from the ground?”
“Because these are complicated spells,” Willow said, pulling herself up, then looking for the next handhold higher up. She touched jagged metal and moved her hand to a new spot. Should have brought some gloves. I knew I was going to be climbing on this stuff. “I have to be able to see what I’m doing.”
Something scritch-scritch-scritched over her head, the sound way too familiar.
Willow glanced up and saw the dozens of bright, beady eyes staring down at her. A wiper fell from above her, making slight clanking noises as it dropped. She froze. “Rats!”
“It’s okay,” Oz said. “I don’t think anyone heard that.”
“No!” Willow exclaimed, cringing back down as the eyes poured out of the car hulks. “Rats! Lots of them!”
Then the rats plunged over the edges of the cars above them, dropping on them like a heavy, writhing, biting, bloodthirsty blanket.
Senses alert, the Slayer crept through the tangle of wrecked cars. Angel followed at her heels, both of them moving like shadows. Giles and Cordelia held fallback positions a little farther back.
Buffy carried a halberd. It was a lot of weapon for close in-fighting. The halberd was over seven feet long and built along the lines of a spear. The haft was thick oak, hand polished till it was smooth, then smothered in shellac and sanded again so it could be
easily gripped.
The business end of the halberd carried a triangular blade nearly a foot long. The design delivered thrusting cuts that would leave an opponent bleeding from a wound that wouldn’t close on its own. Below that was a double ax head, one small side and the other large. The large head could be used for battering attacks and for lopping off the big pieces. The small head could be used to trip or seize an opponent, as well as chopping attacks.
Angel stood beside her, carrying two single-edged battleaxes that Xander had insisted on calling tomahawks.
The chanting sounded strong and steady now. It was in Chinese, or another language that Buffy couldn’t understand. Zhiyong wasn’t chanting by himself anymore. Other voices had joined his.
Buffy crept forward again, moving carefully, alert to every sound. The chanting had a strong cadence to it now, and she could sense the growing power. How much time is left? Please, don’t let me be too late. Being too late really blows.
Someone rushed at her from the shadows as she rounded the next stack of cars.
Chapter 26
BUFFY SPUN, GOING LOW TO THE GROUND WITH THE HALBERD extended before her and held horizontally. Angel was already in motion, coming around to her left. A Black Wind demon fired the machine pistol he held. Orange and yellow muzzle flashes tore away the night as the rapid string of detonations killed the silence.
Well, there’s one greeting you won’t find at Hallmark. Buffy dodged to the right, staying out of Angel’s way, aware of the bullets tearing up the ground between them. She stepped forward, swinging the halberd up and back, then launching it spear point first with everything she had.
Other demons raced to their position. Zhiyong’s chanting came to a stop.
I hope that’s a good thing, Buffy thought, and not that we got here just in time for the end.
Although not normally a missile-type weapon, the halberd sailed straight and true over the twenty feet separating Buffy from the demon. The triangular blade punched through the creature’s throat, severing the spinal cord. The demon dropped to the ground in a green gloppy puddle.
Still on the move, Buffy ran to the halberd and scooped it from the ground, trying not to think of the glop that streaked it. She picked the weapon up and ducked into a crevice between the nearest stack of flattened cars.
Bullets drummed the wrecks, hammering out staccato thunder followed by strident ringing. Sparks flamed out into the alley between stacks.
She glanced back at Angel, wanting to make sure he was all right.
Angel used the two hand axes like he’d been born to them. A demon had stepped from hiding near his position. Before the creature could bring his machine pistol up, Angel chopped the weapon from his hands with one ax, then spun behind the demon and chopped deeply at the base of the skull, dispatching the creature instantly.
“Lost the element of surprise,” Buffy said.
“Yeah,” Angel commented, glancing around the corner where he hid from the renewed gunfire, “well, they still looked pretty surprised to me.”
The gunfire died down and the demons chittered to each other in words Buffy couldn’t understand. But it was clear they were telling each other to move up while denying the suggestion themselves.
Buffy glanced up the narrow chimney of space between the cars. The top was twenty feet up. There were plenty of easy hand- and footholds along the way. She climbed, using one hand and the hook half of the battleax blade.
Seconds later, she was at the top, her knees resting against the rusting metal, hoping that it didn’t suddenly bow in and let the demons know where she was. Angel was nowhere in sight. The demons continued chittering, sounding more anxious now. There were five of them, Buffy saw, all spread out so they wouldn’t be easy to get to.
Beyond them was the opening leading to the area where Zhiyong conducted his spell. The first of the stone dragons Willow had told them about was in view, the mouth and eyes gaping, spewing the rancid green light. Fog gathered inside the open space, thin wisps of white that somehow carried a blood-red tint.
The demons fired at the spots where Angel and Buffy had disappeared from, blasting holes in the rusting metal.
Taking a deep breath, knowing she’d have hardly any time at all, Buffy gathered herself and leaped toward the nearest demon. She landed on the ground behind him, then rammed the spear point through the back of his neck before he even knew she was there.
She pulled the halberd from the demon puddling at her feet, slid her hands to the end of the haft, and swung, taking the next demon’s head from his shoulders, sending it spinning like a badly hit grapefruit.
One of the demons shouted a warning, bringing his weapon around immediately.
Buffy threw herself forward, tucking into a roll, the halberd held horizontal so it wouldn’t hang her up. She drove up from the ground less than two feet from the next demon, swinging the halberd haft up to break the demon’s wrists. He squalled in pain, dropped his weapon, and tried to get away. The Slayer swung an overhand blow, splitting the demon’s head like a melon, driving the blade deeply into the spinal column to destroy her opponent.
Bullets chewed into the ground, throwing dirt clods up.
In motion again, her movements following instinct and training, Buffy went after the next demon, using the halberd haft to block his weapon, then grabbing his duster and shoving him back. Bullets from the last demon slammed into the captured demon, causing him to stutter-step.
Wow, Buffy thought, I bet this guy runs out of friends during fights. Luckily, the bullets didn’t penetrate the demon she was using as a shield. He screamed in pain, sounding human and inhuman at the same time.
Buffy pushed the demon back toward the last one faster, tracking him by the sound of the gunfire. Giving him a final push, she drove the spear point of the halberd into the ground and used it to pole-vault, pushing herself high into the air over the line of bullets. The remaining demon was less than ten feet away. Buffy covered the distance easily, arching her body so that her feet came up over her head.
She laced her fingers together, then reached down and caught the demon under the chin. She yanked, using all of her body weight and snapping the demon’s neck like a twig. Off-balance, she fell, barely landing on her knees and missing her feet entirely.
Bullets cut the air above her head. She ducked lower, doubling back for the halberd and the nearest stack of cars. Breathing hard, she pressed up against the cars, taking cover. Glancing around the corner, she spotted a group of demons streaking for her position. Buffy prepared herself, knowing she wasn’t going to get out of the attack without getting bloody.
Then a dark figure seemed to appear from nowhere behind the demon, moving inhumanly quick, inhumanly vicious. Twin blades raised and fell, chopping down opponents like wheat before a scythe.
One of the last three fell, tripped by the falling, glopping body of the demon behind him. He rolled to his side on the ground and brought his weapon up, firing steadily.
The bullets caught Angel in midstride, knocking him off-balance, ripping through his flesh. He turned his face up toward the moon in agony. His human features washed away in the moonlight, replaced by those of the demon within him. The bandage peeled from his face, revealing the older wound.
Fangs flashing, Angel dodged to one side, then hacked off the demon’s arms with one ax blow. Hands and machine pistol dropped to the ground. As the demon reeled back in horror, Angel struck again, driving his other ax deep into the demon’s head, shattering the skull, burying the ax head inches down into the spinal column. The demon melted away from Angel’s arm and ax.
The other two turned on Angel, lifting their weapons.
Buffy sprinted from cover, bringing the halberd back. The demons fired, trying to track Angel as he dodged to the side. The bullets struck fire from the cars behind him.
Without breaking stride, the Slayer dropped into a balanced stance and swept the halberd around. She felt the dual contacts, harder cleaving through the second than the
first.
Angel turned to her, the axes covered in demon blood, his face awash in the blood of his enemies and his own, pain showing mixed with the rage the change had brought with it.
For a moment, Buffy honestly thought he didn’t recognize her, lost somewhere in the dark side of himself. “Angel,” she called in a soft voice, knowing the temporary respite was about to be broken by the arrival of more demons.
Angel’s mouth worked for a moment. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. His clothing was covered in blood from the wounds he’d sustained. “Buffy.” Recognition locked into the name.
“Are you going to be okay?” Buffy asked.
Angel’s eyes closed for a moment. “Hurts. Been better before.” He coughed against his forearm and it came away bloody. “Been a lot better before.”
Gunfire rang out.
Buffy looked back toward the clearing, seeing that more demons were taking up protective positions. Where are Xander and Shing?
“C’mon,” she said to Angel, “we’ve got to move.” She slid under one of his arms, offering support, knowing they’d never get clear of the area before they were overrun by the demons.
The rats clung to everything.
Willow dropped to the ground, bumping into Oz and knocking them both off their feet. Rats crawled across her head, claws digging fiercely into her hair. They tried to crawl down the back of her shirt, scratching eagerly. They stank of sewer and filth and blood. And their fur was matted, slimy and coarse. At least two thick, hairless tails partially wrapped around her neck.
She wanted to scream, but she was afraid if she did, a rat might try to run into her mouth.
Oz growled in fear and anger, brushing frenziedly at the rats that crawled on him, slapping at them and trying to avoid their sharp teeth at the same time. Then he noticed Willow’s plight and turned his attention to getting the rats off her.
Take care of yourself, Willow silently pleaded, hoping he could see it in her eyes. More than a dozen rat bites already showed on his face, neck, and hands.
