“Redlaw, what’s... what’s going on?” Tina asked bewilderedly.
“Salvation’s come, in the nick of time. Although I don’t think a rescue’s on the cards.”
He peeked round the side of the altar. The soldiers were advancing in two groups, covering one another’s progress with sprays of bullets. They were coming this way, driving the Sunless before them through the transept and towards the apse, funnelling them into a confined space where it would be easier to dispose of them en masse. Every now and then a Fraxinus round struck home and a vampire collapsed, dissolving as it fell.
Where was Tchaikovsky?
There.
Redlaw spotted the shtriga high in the rafters, limbering along upside down like some humanoid insect. It occurred to him that Tchaikovsky might be fleeing. He appeared to be making for the broken windows. Was he shirking his responsibility? Abandoning his flock to their doom?
No. Merely seeking a vantage point. High ground from which to counterattack. Tchaikovsky halted, canted his head back and peered down. He was directly above one of the soldiers.
Go, Redlaw willed him.
Tchaikovsky was a dangerous lunatic. He had been on the point of slicing Tina open for her blood, and would have done the same to Redlaw. Redlaw wanted nothing more than to see him reduced to ashes, wiped off the face of the world.
Except...
At this moment, Tchaikovsky was the vampires’ best and only hope of survival. And, by extension, Redlaw’s and Tina’s too. No one else had the wherewithal to take on these marauders. Their massive firepower gave them a tactical superiority that could not be compensated for or defended against—save, perhaps, by a shtriga.
Tchaikovsky dropped from his perch, plummeting headfirst towards the soldier. Redlaw assumed the man was unsuspecting, heedless of the possibility of assault from above.
But the soldier looked up and stepped smartly back. It was as though some sixth sense had warned him he was being ambushed.
Tchaikovsky twisted in midair like a cat, landing awkwardly on the spot where the soldier had been standing. He’d hoped to hit him and crush him. Instead, he found himself confronted by an opponent who not only appeared to have reflexes equal to his but was toting weaponry.
Tchaikovsky naturally went straight for the gun. He ducked under the barrel, grabbed it and wrenched the rifle upwards. But the soldier responded with a brutal kick to the ribs that sent Tchaikovsky hurtling backwards.
The shtriga was back on his feet in a flash and springing sideways to evade a volley of bullets. He rebounded off a wall and flew at the soldier’s flank, colliding with enough force to knock him over.
The soldier was quick to recover and retaliate, throwing Tchaikovsky off him with a single fierce shove. He must have emptied his rifle’s magazine with that last burst and there was no time to reload, so he tossed the gun aside and unsheathed a combat knife. He lunged at Tchaikovsky with it. The blade was a good ten inches long and matt black. Carbonised ash, was Redlaw’s guess. Like a Fraxinus round. Wood toughened and tempered by controlled exposure to heat until it became diamond-hard.
The soldier slashed at Tchaikovsky, who danced warily out of range and slashed back with his talons. The to-and-fro of their struggle was almost too swift for the eye to follow, feints and thrusts conducted at a speed no mere human could match. Tchaikovsky was the first to draw blood, ripping a hole in his opponent’s thigh. The soldier answered almost immediately, gashing open Tchaikovsky’s forearm.
The shtriga howled, more affronted than in pain. Redlaw had no doubt, though, that the injury hurt. Ash-wood was lethal to vampires, its touch corrosive, like a mix of neurotoxin and acid. Perhaps a shtriga, being a higher order of vampire, was not affected to quite the same degree, but judging by the way Tchaikovsky favoured his arm from then on, he was not immune either.
The fight continued, but Redlaw no longer had the luxury of watching it. There were more pressing concerns. The rest of the soldiers were nearing the altar, behind which several vampires were now cowering alongside himself and Tina. Tina shrank away from them, pressing herself close to him.
“Can’t we surrender?” she said over the clattering cacophony of the guns. “You and me? We’re not vampires. They’ll see that. They’ll let us go. They’ve got to.”
Redlaw didn’t share her optimism. “In the heat of battle we’re likely to get shot if we show our faces. Besides, I don’t think these people are the type to show mercy. Especially not to eyewitnesses.”
“Then we’re fucked. Just as fucked as before.” Her voice fractured with despair. “There’s no way out of here. We just wait ’til they get to us and blow us away.”
“There is a way out,” said the vampire nearest to Tina.
Redlaw recognised him from his previous visit to St Magnus’s. He’d seen him speak to Tchaikovsky. The Latino. What was his name? Miguel.
“Go on,” he said.
“The crypt,” said Miguel.
“The crypt’s a dead end, surely?”
“Not exactly. Our shtriga, he foresaw that we might need an escape route, in case of emergency.”
“You can get out through it?”
“Maybe,” said Miguel, adding, “Maybe we all can.”
“If you help us, I promise I’ll not harm you,” Redlaw said. “There’ll be no comebacks for what Tchaikovsky tried to do to us just now.”
“And if I don’t help you?”
“I think you want to. I think you know that we’re in this together. And I think you know that you stand a better chance of making it to safety with me than without me.”
Miguel acknowledged this with a nod.
“Wait, what?” Tina said. “Not five minutes ago these bastards were going to eat us. Now suddenly we’re best friends?”
“We’re not best friends,” Redlaw replied. “But we’re all going to die unless we can get away from those soldiers. I’d say we have more in common now than we do dividing us. Allies in adversity. Miguel, lead the way.”
“I would,” said Miguel, “only...”
He pointed.
The doorway to the crypt lay some thirty yards distant, over by the west wall. Between it and the altar there was a stretch of open floor, exposed ground, no cover, nothing to hide behind.
“Shit,” said Tina. “We try to cross that, we’ll be ducks at a shooting gallery. They’ll pick us off.”
Redlaw nodded grimly.
“Any bright ideas?” she asked in quavering tones, hopefully.
“You do have a gun,” said Miguel.
Redlaw glanced down at the Cindermaker. A full clip. Thirteen rounds.
“I do.”
He adopted a crouching stance, braced like a sprinter on the starting blocks.
“All of you,” he said to Tina and the vampires. “Follow me. Full tilt. On my mark. Three. Two. One. Now!”
And he sprang from cover.
And they ran.
AS HE RAN, Redlaw let loose with the Cindermaker. He fired wild, looking ahead towards the crypt entrance while directing his shots sideways, aiming roughly where he knew the soldiers to be.
He was betting on them not having anticipated return fire. As far as they were concerned, vampires didn’t carry guns. The Cindermaker gave him an element of surprise. The thinnest of edges, but better than none.
His gamble paid off. The soldiers were startled to be met with incoming. Instinct took over and they threw themselves flat to the floor or hid behind pillars. For a few brief, precious seconds, bullets were flying the other way across the church interior. The soldiers were on the receiving end rather than dishing it out.
Vampires followed Redlaw in a straggling line, perhaps ten of them in all, plus Tina. As they neared the door, one of the soldiers poked his head out from behind a pew. Redlaw sent a bullet his way. That deterred him and his cohorts for a little while longer.
The door was stiff, hard to budge. Redlaw leaned back and heaved. Miguel assisted and effortlessly drew it all the way o
pen.
“Move!” Redlaw barked, and the vampires charged past him and down the spiral staircase. He, meanwhile, scanned the church, watching for the soldiers. He’d been keeping count of his shots. Three rounds left before he’d need to reload.
He glimpsed an arm, an elbow, poking out from round a pillar. He took aim and scored a direct hit. Expecting a howl of agony, all he heard was a muffled curse. He must have struck armour. Damn.
Rifle fire came at him from another corner of the church. Redlaw slammed himself flat behind the door. Bullets whumped into its thick oak panels. He felt the impacts through his back.
The last vampire hadn’t quite reached the crypt entrance, and caught several shots from behind. His scream went unfinished, cut short. Some of him came through the doorway, in the form of an avalanche of fine, ashy dust.
There might be other vampires still out there in the church, but Redlaw could do nothing for them. None stood a chance of even getting near the crypt entrance. He could save only those he could save. He loosed off another bullet around the edge of the door, his second to last, then hauled the door shut. There was a heavy iron key in the lock. He turned it, knowing it wouldn’t hold the soldiers back for long, but any delay, however small, was welcome. Then he headed downstairs. The stairwell was unlit, and he negotiated it by touch, one hand on the curving wall, his feet judging the position of each step by the previous one.
The crypt itself had a bare low-wattage electric bulb which afforded just enough light to see by. Tina seized Redlaw’s arm as he appeared at the foot of the stairs. She clung on, scared to let go. The vampires were clustered in the middle of the crypt, crouching down, frantically busy. They were dismantling a section of the floor, where the stones were loose rather than mortared in place. Redlaw had not registered this fact the last time he’d been here.
As the stones were cleared away, a steel trapdoor was uncovered. It was scuffed and discoloured, but looked to have been installed relatively recently. Miguel threw a bolt and raised the trapdoor, revealing a vertical shaft with the diameter of a swimming-pool flume. A stink arose from the hole, as did a sound: the faint hiss of rushing water.
Miguel stuck his legs into the shaft and dropped out of sight. One by one the other vampires followed suit.
“Does that go where I think it goes?” Tina said.
“The sewers,” Redlaw said with a nod.
“Oh, ick. Must we?”
An explosion rumbled and rattled overhead, the blast wave reverberating down the staircase.
“They’ve blown the door,” Redlaw said. “They’ll be here in moments. If you have a better plan...”
“Clearly I fucking don’t.” Tina peered into the shaft. “I don’t see the bottom. How far are we going to fall?”
“Bend your knees. Brace for impact. The vampires seem to have landed safely.”
“Yeah, but they’re, like, super us.”
“Tina, jump or die. It’s your choice.”
She shot him a truculent look, then flattened her arms against her sides and jumped. As she disappeared down the shaft she let out a cry, which ended abruptly two seconds later.
Redlaw dug out the army-surplus night vision goggles out of his pocket and strapped them on. They emitted a high-pitched whine as they powered up. Before pulling the goggles down over his eyes he smashed the lightbulb with the butt of his Cindermaker, plunging the crypt into darkness. Then he immersed himself in the phosphorescent emerald world of light enhancement.
Footfalls on the staircase. Cautious. The soldiers had learned that there was an unforeseen factor in play. One of their foes was packing a gun, and if one was, might not others be? They were no longer quite so gung-ho as before. The mission’s risk level had been upped. This was not a turkey shoot any more.
A preliminary burst of gunfire raked into the crypt. From the angle of fire, the shooter was some ten or eleven steps up the staircase.
A smoke bomb tumbled down in the wake of the bullets, jetting out garlic gas.
That was Redlaw’s cue to make a hasty exit. Once the smoke thickened, a full-on assault on the crypt would commence.
He slid halfway into the shaft, grabbing the trapdoor with one hand. Shunting himself off the edge, he fell, yanking the trapdoor shut.
It was a slithering, hurtling descent. Redlaw was scraped and buffeted by the rough-hewn walls of the shaft.
Then he was plunging through empty space.
Then he struck the ground jarringly, splashing shin-deep into water. He lost his balance, sprawled, and scrambled upright.
He was half-soaked. His trousers and coat sleeves stuck to his skin, dripping wet. His knees throbbed, protesting at the amount of kinetic energy they had just had to absorb. At their age! In their condition!
Redlaw peered around, taking stock.
He was in a circular sewage tunnel, perhaps ten feet high at its apex. The water flowed along a central gully, churning and bubbling. Lumps floated in it, objects whose nature and origin he didn’t care to speculate about, some pale, some dark. The stench was nauseating.
Nearby, Tina stood. She peered around, wide-eyed, looking shivery and lost. She couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black.
The vampires waited a little way further off, in a huddle. Unlike Tina, their vision in these conditions was perfect.
Redlaw waded over to her. “Tina.”
“Thank fuck.” She groped for him. He took her hand. “We’re up to our asses in human waste, right?”
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” he replied.
“It smells that bad.”
“Better get used to it. We have to keep going. Those soldiers won’t give up easily. They’re thorough and they haven’t finished the job. Hold on to me. I have my goggles on. I’ll guide you. I can see for both of us.”
“Knew I should have got myself a pair of those things,” Tina said, hooking an arm round his waist.
“Tell you what. If we get out of this, I’ll buy you one. My treat.”
“You sure know how to spoil a lady, Redlaw.”
“Miguel,” Redlaw said, addressing the Latino vampire. “Which way now?”
“I don’t know,” Miguel confessed. “The padre never said. If we ever had to use this escape route, it was assumed he’d be with us.”
“We can’t leave Father Tchaikovsky behind,” said another of the vampires, a plump woman whose hair retained the vestiges of a bad perm and who was dressed in a dirt-stained fleece embroidered with the logo of a supermarket chain. A name badge on her chest said Hi! I’m PATTI. How may I help you today? “We’ll stay put until he comes for us. He’ll lead us out of here.”
“There’s no saying he is coming,” Redlaw said. “When I last saw him, he was fighting one of those armed men. He was defending you, buying you time to get to safety. We can’t presume he’ll be catching up soon—if ever.”
Whimpers of dismay from the vampires. The shtriga priest’s hold over them was strong, so strong that they were lost without him. To them he was part shepherd, part drug. They feared and adored him.
“Now, pay attention,” Redlaw said sternly. “Those people back there have one objective only, and that’s to destroy you. They’re going to keep after you until they’ve turned you all to dust. You can’t stop them. The only thing you can do is run. If death’s what you want, fine, stay here. They won’t be long. But if you have any desire whatever to survive, you’ll move, right now.”
The vampires looked at one another.
Redlaw raised the Cindermaker, which had just one round left. “Put it this way. If they don’t shoot you, I will.”
He saw them weighing things up. They weren’t to know the gun was almost out of ammunition, and even if they suspected it, it didn’t matter. He could target any one of them. Nobody wanted to be the unlucky victim, the one who got singled out.
“But... we don’t know where to go,” said Miguel forlornly.
“I’d suggest that direction,” said Redlaw. “The way the wate
r’s going. It must decant somewhere, some outflow pipe, maybe even into the river.”
The vampires set off, hesitantly.
Redlaw recalled something Illyria had told him: They are like dogs in many ways. They simply need to be shown who’s boss. Well, he’d done that. The role of shtriga meant imposing your will on other vampires and reinforcing your dominance by means of threats and, when called for, violence. Being leader of the pack, in other words. Alpha vamp.
“We’re heading that way, too,” he told Tina. “Stick with me.”
“Sticking,” she replied. “Like glue.”
He waded through the sewer water, Tina stumbling along beside him. He went as fast as he could while making allowances for the fact that she was effectively blind. The vampires remained a few paces ahead but kept checking back to reassure themselves that Redlaw was still with them. He, in turn, looked over his shoulder at regular intervals, expecting the soldiers to appear at any moment.
Sure enough, a helmeted head emerged from the shaft opening in the ceiling. A soldier had clambered down and was reconnoitring, getting the lie of the land. The fact that he was upside down suggested he was braced against the sides of the shaft, holding himself in an inverted position. That was some feat of athleticism, and once more Redlaw found himself wondering what sort of people these soldiers really were. Were they even people?
He debated whether to open fire. But it was a tricky shot—a target the size of a football at fifty yards with a handgun—and he couldn’t afford to waste the last bullet. Refilling the clip took a minute, time he currently didn’t have.
Instead, he redoubled his pace, almost hauling Tina along now. The vampires sensed his urgency and sped up too.
The sewer trended downward. The water grew shallower, its rush more hectic. Ahead, in the distance, Redlaw glimpsed an end to the tunnel. Behind him, meanwhile, the soldier had lowered himself out from the shaft, uncurling, dropping lithely to the floor. A second soldier eased out after him. They began to prowl along the sewer, dogging their prey.
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