by Rachel Caine
That would be okay, if so. Not that I wouldn’t rather live, if it came down to it.
There didn’t seem to be any draug sliming their way toward me, which was a temporary blessing. My clothes were soaked, and the stinging just got worse, as if I was rolling in a million tiny shards of glass. I could see the pink wash of blood spreading through the damp fabric of my shirt. I needed to get clean and dry, fast; whatever bits of draug were still on me were trying to feed, and I had no idea what that would mean. What if they got inside me? I had a vision of chest-bursting alien parasites that made me want to puke up the taste of rotting slime.
For a fraction of a second, that felt so real it was terrifying. They’re eating me. Eating me alive. And then a kind of strange calm settled in, because I was okay, I was alive, I was going to make it. I just knew it.
Because I was Shane Collins, and the fact that I was still alive was an ongoing miracle anyway.
But the clothes had to come off.
I kicked open an office door and found a locker that held extra coveralls. I stripped down to the skin, toweled off with a sports flag pinned to the wall (finally, a good use for a TPU souvenir), and put on the coveralls. They were a thick orange paper with reflective white strips on the sleeves, back and legs, and they just barely fit me. If I did a lot of bending, it was going to get interesting, but ripped pants were the least of my worries. The stinging died down to a dull, constant ache, and I found a pair of heavy work boots that were only a little small. I left them untied.
Then I tried for the main stairs.
No good. The draug were in the way. They had resumed their human disguises, and all of them were moving purposefully toward the front exit—where the truck was parked, probably still waiting for me because I knew Claire wasn’t going to leave without me. Michael and Eve wouldn’t want to, either, but Myrnin? That plasma-sucking asshat would dump me in a hot second, and I knew it.
“Over my dead body,” I whispered, but very, very quietly, because that was all too likely right now. So I couldn’t go down.
That left up, to the roof.
The stairs I’d taken to get here had no up, but there were things on the top of the building—air conditioners, at least—that people needed to repair, so there had to be access somewhere. I found an evacuation plan beside the silent, dead elevator, and it showed roof access on the other fire stairs. I headed that way, moving as quietly as I could. The draug didn’t seem really interested in me now, but that could change at any time. I needed to get to Claire, to make sure she was okay. She’d run downstairs, and maybe she’d gotten away, but what if she’d run into another trap? What if they had her?
I found the roof door. No locks, but it was alarmed, according to the big red sign. Great; pushing it meant that I was giving the draug a big neon sign that said IDIOT ESCAPEE HERE. Not much I could do about it, though; it was either sound the alarm and hope to find an escape, or stay here and hope I could play keep-away with things that vampires found horrifying and wrong.
I pressed the exit latch on the door. The alarm sounded a shrill, monotonous drone that hit me like an ice pick through the ear, and I ran for it. The shoes felt weird on my feet, molded to some other guy’s balance; the wintery chill and damp quickly soaked into the thick paper jumpsuit, and I had a mad second’s worry that it was just going to dissolve around me, like tissue, leaving me running around naked in work boots on a roof while the draug pointed and laughed before eating me.
Something was eating me. For a white-hot second, I felt the sting, but that wasn’t right. I’d changed clothes, I’d wiped down. There might be draug residue, but it wouldn’t be enough to hurt me.
I was okay.
Overhead, thunder boomed and lightning danced in the clouds.
I made it to the edge of the roof and peered over. There was no railing; this wasn’t some terrace or balcony—it was just tar, gravel, and a sharp drop for three floors, straight down to a parking lot.
And a big, square, gray armored truck that was still sitting right where we’d left it. Of course they were okay. I believed it, I knew it. Just like I knew they wouldn’t leave me behind.
Stinging. A breathtaking wave of it, again, flashing over me and then fading into a wave of calm. Everything is okay. Look, they’re here. They’re waiting for me. We’re okay.
I saw the driver’s side door open and Michael step out on the running board. Even in all that gray, dim light, his fierce grin glowed right along with his blond hair. “What’s with the prisonwear?” he shouted up.
“You know me. I’ve spent so much time behind bars I miss the fashions.” I looked at the drop. It didn’t get any better. “I’m cut off, man. Is Claire—”
“She’s here, screaming her head off. She made us turn around for you. I think she’s about to stake Myrnin, and me, and maybe Eve if we don’t let her come find you, so save us, get your ass down here.”
“Uh, I’d love to, but I’m not half superhero like you. And I left my Spider-Man costume at home.”
Michael got serious. In one fluid move he was out of the van and leaping up on the roof like some big, dangerous cat.
He was staring up at me, and in a calm, clear voice, he said, “Jump.”
“Dude, I am not jumping.”
“I mean it.”
“You mean you’re going to catch me like some old-school damsel in distress? No way in hell, man.”
He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. We just looked at each other, and then I felt a damp breath of chill on the back of my neck, and I knew, knew the draug were there, they were rising up out of the puddles on the roof, dripping down out of the clouds, coming up in a liquid rush from the stairwell ….
Something was eating me. Part of my brain was screaming, but the thick wave of calm descended again, smothering it. It’s all okay. Everything’s okay. Jump.
I jumped.
It wasn’t a hero kind of thing, I didn’t do a swan dive or let out a warrior yell or anything. I probably looked stupid as hell, actually. It seemed to take forever, but I was sure Claire could have told me exactly how long it took me to fall, simple math and all that, and then something cushioned me and bounced me up on my feet again with a solid thump, so smooth and fast that it was like Michael hadn’t actually caught me at all.
Which he had, of course, but we pretended really hard that it had never happened.
“Get in the back,” he told me, and swung himself down into the truck’s cab. I jumped from the top of the truck to the ground—ouch, even that small distance was tough on the knees—and opened the back door.
Claire was fighting with Myrnin, and by God, she looked like she might just win. Well, probably not, but from the expression on her face she was never going to give up, ever. I kind of froze for a second, because I had never seen her look like that, so focused and burning with rage and just …
Beautiful.
And then she saw me, and the look changed, and it was something even more amazing. There’s this word I always had trouble with in school: transcendent.
But that was it, right there.
Myrnin let her go without a word, and she flew into my arms so hard I almost tumbled out the back again. She was all soft skin and tensed, trembling muscle. I hugged her hard, just for a second, and then let go to slam the back door shut and lock it. “Go, Mikey!” I yelled, and then grabbed Claire again. I kissed her. I wanted to kiss her forever. No, that wasn’t true—I wanted a hell of a lot more than that, but it wasn’t going to happen in the back of an armored truck with a damn vampire leaning up against Amelie’s velvet throne, watching us with an expression somewhere between distaste and longing.
Claire looked vague and dumbstruck for a second when I let go, but she grabbed a handhold—me—as the truck backed up. “Hey,” she said, “what the heck are you wearing?”
“I went shopping,” I said. “What do you think? Straight off the runway.”
“Where, at the detention center?”
Banter was tiring,
suddenly, so I resorted to the truth. “I had to ditch my clothes. They were full of draug.”
She winced, and unsnapped the top of the jumpsuit to see the red marks on my skin. The bleeding had stopped, at least, though the worst bites had leaked into the paper, making it look either festive or horrific, depending on how your mood ran. Me, I was just happy to be alive and have my girl holding me. Today, that was one hell of a win. “Did you get hurt anywhere else?”
“We can explore that somewhere better than this, but I think I’m okay. Got away clean. I mean that like a metaphor, because I could really use a shower.”
Then I felt the sting again, hot as acid rain. I got away clean …. No, I couldn’t have. I didn’t get away. Nobody gets away. Something is eating me. I know it. I feel it. … No. No, I was okay. Everything was okay. Claire was right here, holding on to me. It was all fine.
“Did you close the valves?” Myrnin asked.
“One was stuck,” I said. “All the others are closed. You don’t think they can open them?”
“Unlikely. Magnus can manifest enough physical strength to manage it, but he is about to have much more to worry about,” Myrnin said. “I flushed the lines with silver nitrate. They can’t use the pipes with any safety. We’ve slowed them down considerably, at the very least.”
The truck did a three-point turn and accelerated, which was a relief. I’d been afraid the draug were going to do some end run around us and trap us all. But from the roaring of the engine, Mikey wasn’t going to let anything at all stop us now, and if the draug wanted to splash the windshield I supposed they were welcome to try.
Myrnin sat down on the cushy throne that was decorated with the Founder’s symbol on the top, and heaved a big sigh. He was smiling. Not the usual look for him, either—this had a certain gleeful cruelty to it that made me glad he wasn’t directing it at me.
“Can you hear that?” he asked us. He had his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the heavy velvet padding.
“Is it the draug?” Claire asked anxiously. “Are they singing? Is it getting to you or—”
“Not singing,” he said, and the smile grew wider. “Screaming. They’re screaming. And it is lovely.”
There was something off about him, I thought with a weird, fleeting chill. The Myrnin I remembered was a crazy asshole, but he wasn’t some kind of sadist. Then again, I supposed they’d been afraid of the draug for so long that maybe a little gruesome victory dance might not be so strange.
He opened his eyes and looked at me, and for a moment there was something wrong in him. Something not Myrnin at all.
It hurts. It shouldn’t still hurt. Something’s wrong. I need to … to wake up ….
No. There was no pain. I was fine. Everything was fine.
“We should definitely celebrate that we did not die,” Myrnin said. “I believe you’re all old enough for champagne, are you not?”
“Yes,” I said, and heard Michael and Eve chorus from the front.
“No,” Claire blurted, and her cheeks turned adorably pink. “Oh, come on, you already knew that. And by the way, none of us are legal drinkers yet.”
“We’re old enough to carry flamethrowers,” I pointed out. “And shotguns.”
“I know, and it’s not that I would turn it down. I just wanted to be … on the record. That we’re not old enough for any of this.”
I kissed her forehead, because that was just … cute.
Something’s eating me. Oh God, I can feel it …. The pain …
But that was wrong, because I’d escaped. We’d all escaped.
It was all just … fine.
By the time we reached Founder’s Square, things were happening. We couldn’t see them from the back of the truck, but Michael relayed a constant stream of information as he drove. Police cars were speeding out of the secured area instead of into it. Word there was that flushing nitrate through the lines had worked—worked lots better than we’d ever expected. The draug were trying to escape, but they’d been poisoned.
They were dying.
You’re dying. Wake up. It felt like my own voice, screaming inside, but it made no sense, no sense at all. Everything was going perfectly.
We were taking back our town.
The next few hours were a confused blur. Oliver ignored us and ordered us back to the room where we’d slept, and that was okay, because after all the danger and adrenaline I was bone-tired, and I could tell Claire and Eve were asleep on their feet, too. I don’t think any of us expected it to be quite that … fast.
Claire and I zipped our sleeping bags together and fell asleep spooned together. I thought I’d sleep soundly; I had good reason to, but instead I kept feeling the sharp, digging stings, needles burrowing and probing inside me, and even though I knew it was a dream, just a dream, nothing, it kept me awake.
Whimpering.
Afraid.
Something’s eating you, Shane.
No. I was fine. Everything was fine.
I finally dozed, and woke up to find Amelie standing in the doorway. I’m not big on impressing the vamps, but there was something a little unfair about facing the Queen Bee with bed-head and morning breath. I guess the most important thing, though, was that she was awake, and standing up, and actually seemed better. Oliver was with her, looking like a scowling black crow, but I think that was mostly because he was still spoiling for a fight.
Evidently, he wasn’t going to get it.
“Magnus is injured,” Amelie told us. She sat, gracefully, on a chair and made it look as if it was her own idea instead of something to prevent herself from collapsing in a heap. She had her hair down, which made her look almost our age, though there’s nothing about the Founder’s eyes that reminds me of youth. “He hides now, and his draug thralls are dying quickly. Your actions may have turned the tide. I will not forget that.”
“You,” Oliver said, and pointed to me. “And you.” Michael. “Come with me.”
I traded a look with my best friend, and he shrugged, and we got up and followed the two vampires out of the hall. Claire wanted to come along, but I promised her I wouldn’t do anything stupid—though she probably knew that was a nutty promise, coming from me.
The voice inside my head rose to a deafening shriek. You’re breaking all your promises. You’re giving up, you asshole. Wake up! It felt like being plunged into ice water, and for a breathtaking second I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live with the stinging pain of it.
Michael grabbed my shoulder. “You okay, man?”
Yes. Of course I was. I was always okay, right? Everything was fine.
“I am leading a group to take Magnus,” Oliver told me and Michael out in the hallway; he supported Amelie with an arm under hers, as if he were escorting her to some fancy dance, but it was obvious he was keeping her upright. “I want the two of you with us.”
“Good,” I said. I was always up for a good fight, even against the draug—maybe especially against the draug. I would never get the images of Claire lying so still and broken on the floor of the Glass House out of my head, even though she was okay now. It had been the lowest moment of my life, in a life with plenty of cellar-diving events. I tried hard not to relive how I’d felt, seeing her that way. “Where are we going?”
Oliver didn’t bother to give info, but that was typical. He did arm us up, which was nice—shotguns, which felt solid and deadly in my hands. Then we fell into line with a bunch of vampires and even a dozen humans—surprisingly, the new leader of the human resistance (all the resistance leaders were named Captain Obvious) was one of them, sporting his I-hate-vamps stake tattoo but carrying a shotgun all the same. He nodded to me guardedly; I nodded back. That was like an entire conversation for somebody like him.
“How’d they talk you into this?” I asked him under my breath as we started moving toward the exit. Amelie was watching us go, like a queen sending her troops off to battle—back straight, hand raised, shining and pale and hard as diamond.
“Temporary,” the captain said. His eyes kept darting around at the vampires, never trusting for a second; I knew that feeling—hell, I lived it. “Common enemy and all that crap, but it ain’t like I’m signing up to be best friends. These vermin kill people, too. That’s all I care about.” He gave me a longer glance. “You?”
“The draug hurt somebody I care about,” I said. “And they’re going to answer for that.”
It was an acceptable reply, and he jerked his chin in approval—but his eyes went flat and cold when he looked past me at Michael. For him, Michael was the Enemy. I wondered whether that was ever going to change. Probably not, not until the vampires themselves changed it. And let’s face it, the chances of that were slim. Nobody likes giving up power, especially the kind that keeps them rich and safe and well fed.
Captain Obvious looked back, straight into my eyes, and said, “Something’s eating you. Wake up.”
Something’s eating you! Listen!
I struggled against that wave again, this time hot and red instead of icy cold, and came out the other side of it, into calm, still waters. “I’m fine,” I told him. “Everything’s just fine. We’re all okay.”
“Sure we are,” he said, and smiled. “Damn straight.”
The vamps had appropriated more buses for troop transport; these happened to be Morganville school buses. Ah, the memories. The cheap, shiny leatherette seats smelled like melted crayons, piss, and fear; I’d gotten the snot beaten out of me a couple of times on a bus just like this, before I’d taken charge of that. It had been righteous, though; I’d jumped in when ninth-grade Sammy Jenkins was slapping sixth-grade Michael around. Good times.
The vampires obviously didn’t care for the nostalgic ambience, because they slammed the windows down and let the cold, moist air roll through the bus. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were thinning and blowing away to reveal a clear blue sky. It might even warm up a little, burn off the thin puddles standing on the asphalt.
The desert was sluicing off the water as fast as it had fallen. Within a day, rain would be a distant memory. That was why the vamps had moved here—because water wouldn’t stand. It gave the draug fewer and fewer places to hide.
