Hunted

by S W Vaughn

  Grace, get down! That was Michael.

  She dropped to the ground. One hand brushed something warm and firm, motionless. Grace stifled a sob. Kendra. Jesus...

  "Michael, Michael. Such an idiot.” Kyle moved cautiously toward them. Gray light, wisps of the moon creeping through the open door, revealed his dim outline. “You're still dead, even if you manage to get by me. Zane's on his way.” Kyle pivoted and fired into the dark. The muzzle flash seared negative images in the air. “I saw your little friend Kaden crawl back in. Zane wasn't happy to hear that he managed to survive. So he's just going to take you all out now."

  Silence replied to his taunts.

  Grace. Whatever happens, don't move.

  Light burst in the gloom to Kyle's right. Michael stood in the center of the glow, silent and furious. Kyle grinned. He raised the gun.

  "Idiot."

  He shot, point-blank. Michael evaporated.

  "What the—"

  Another silhouette loomed behind Kyle, leapt on him, and bore him to the ground. A brief struggle ended with a sharp, meaty thud. Something metal skittered across the floor and hit the far wall.

  "Grace,” Michael panted. “We need light. Van's unlocked. Turn the headlights on ... go around the back."

  Grace moved carefully. Using the van for support, she stood and felt around the back, up the side, until she located the front door handle. She pulled it open, fumbled for the headlight knob. They sprang to life. Grace shuffled back the way she'd come and tried not to think about what lay on the other side.

  She saw the metal object first: a crowbar, the bend coated in dark, viscous fluid. Michael came into view. He knelt on Kyle's back, pinning him down. There was no need. Kyle's skull caved in at the back, misshapen and broken. He wasn't getting up.

  Grace risked a glance alongside the van, and realized Kendra wasn't either.

  "No...” Grace wavered on her feet. Shades of gray swarmed her vision. She pitched forward, unable to stop the descent.

  Michael jumped from the body and caught her before she hit the floor.

  "Breathe. Grace, honey, you have to breathe. Come on."

  Grace closed her eyes and sucked in a harsh breath. “She's dead."

  "Yes. I know. Christ...” Michael stiffened. “But we're not. We have to get to the others. Can you make it back?"

  "I will.” Grace drew herself up. “Where should we—"

  Run.

  The dream voice again. A shiver danced down Grace's spine. Why? Who are you?

  Run, Nephil. He is near. She will come.

  Who are you? she insisted.

  Silver.

  "Oh my God.” Silver wasn't the angel. He was the monster. The Stalker. Warning her? Why would he do that?

  Run.

  Michael stared at her in confusion. She caught his gaze, and repeated Silver's directive.

  "Run."

  * * * *

  The bars blended together over the centuries. Lorin's sole objectives in entering them were drinks, sex, and kills—not in any particular order. Tonight, no Nephil had presented itself for destruction. Tonight she would play with a human. She never killed human sex partners. They amused her.

  Lorin ordered another Corona and surveyed her choices. More than one looked promising. The bartender who brought her drink was a lovely specimen. Even teeth, dimpled chin, muscled arms. Perhaps she would remain until closing, if no others caught her interest.

  She brought the beer to her lips and halted. A distant jolt of power tingled her senses, familiar and maddening. The escaped Nephil. The one she'd told Silver to alert her about immediately. It was closer to him than her. He must have felt it.

  Silver! How dare you disobey me?

  He didn't respond.

  Lorin stood and hurled the bottle across the room. It shattered against the far wall. Jagged shards of clear glass embedded in the plaster. The humans averted their eyes. No one challenged her. Answer me, you filthy, festering, walking plague!

  Yes ... Lorin...

  Pain marked his words. Lorin stalked out of the bar, so she could concentrate on the signal. Crowds of humans tended to muffle power. Outside, she strode down the sidewalk and fumed. Did you not sense it? The Nephil! It's near you.

  I...

  Worthless fool! Lorin sought the Nephil again. The power had begun to fade, but she could follow it easily enough, once she moved further from the humans. She would force Silver to take it apart a piece at a time. Apparently, he still hadn't learned his lesson.

  I will fetch it and bring it to you. Then you can redeem yourself for failing to locate it.

  Once again, Silver offered no response. Perhaps he'd passed out from the pain. The image brought a smile to Lorin's face. She walked faster, eager to begin.

  The Nephil's screams would be music. Beautiful music.

  * * * *

  Grace found her tenth wind somewhere around the time she rounded the greenhouse, and the camp house porch became visible. Michael pounded the ground three steps behind. Almost there. Her mind whirled with a gruesome kaleidoscope of thoughts and images. Near-photographic memories warred with her frantic search for an answer to the crisis at hand.

  Where should they go? The main road was out—and this was a mountain. The main road was the only road. Zane had a car. She'd seen Kaden's memories. But if he was an angel, did he need a car? They could take to the woods, face the bears and cougars and Heaven knew what else. How long would they survive? Grace harbored the sinking feeling that sooner or later, they would have to face Zane. How could they beat an angel?

  A bizarre answer whispered in her mind. With another angel.

  Grace shook her head. They didn't have an angel handy at the moment. The instant her foot touched the first step, Megan burst through the door, a hinged metal box in her hands. “What happened? Where's the van? And Kendra?"

  Grace stopped short. Michael collided with her. She hit the stairs with a sharp gasp. Michael hauled her up and half-carried her to the porch.

  "Tell everyone to get whatever they can carry and get out here.” Michael paused, caught a breath. “We can't take the van. What's that?” He nodded at the box.

  Megan glanced down and seemed surprised to find her hands full. “What's left of the drug,” she said. “Lawrence thought, since it works on the angel part of us, that maybe if we ran across one..."

  "It's worth a try. Here, let me see."

  Megan handed the box to him. He opened it, glanced inside, and put it down next to Grace. A dozen or so filled syringes lay lengthwise and stacked in rows.

  "All right. On second thought, you stay out here with Grace. I'll get the others. Tell me if you see or hear anything at all. Okay?"

  Megan nodded solemnly, and Michael dashed inside. The girl crouched beside Grace. “You look awful,” she said. “Grace ... what's going on?"

  "Kyle. Shot Kendra."

  "No! Why didn't you tell me sooner?” Megan moved toward the steps. “Can you still do that transporter thing? Take me to her. I rested a little. I can probably..."

  "Megan.” Grace interrupted, her voice a dull scrape of sound. “Thank you. But even if you were at full strength ... you can't heal the dead.” With distance from the initial shock, her admission drove the point home. Tears slipped from her eyes and bathed her face in reality.

  Without a word, Megan dropped and embraced her. Grace allowed herself the luxury of the moment, and then pulled back.

  "Kyle slashed the tires on the van. Probably started the fire, too. He's dead.” Despite the misery feasting on her, a smile crept through. “Michael brained him with a crowbar."

  "Wicked! Wish I could've—” Megan stopped abruptly, turned her head, and peered out at the darkened lawn. “Grace.” She choked out the word.

  What is it?

  If Kyle's dead ... who's that?

  Grace followed her gaze, and spotted the shadowed figure striding rapidly toward them.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 28
>
  "Hey! You girls okay? Is everyone else here?"

  "Lou!” Grace stood, but her tentative smile faded. If Kyle worked for Zane, maybe Lou did, too. Be careful, she told Megan. Watch his hands. She studied them herself. They seemed empty. “How did you get out of there?"

  "I, uh ... dunno.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, rubbed the back of his head. “Somebody clobbered me. I woke up on the back lawn."

  "Kyle.” Grace's expression darkened. She wanted to resurrect him and kill him all over again. Michael. Lou's alive. He's out here.

  "Kyle? Why would he...” Lou frowned. “Dawn. Dorinne and Vera. Did they get out?"

  "Dawn did,” Grace said gently.

  "Oh."

  The door opened. Michael stepped out, a sports bag slung over his shoulder. “Lou. You're not going to shoot anyone, are you?"

  "Not unless you say so, boss."

  "Good.” Michael glanced back into the house. “Let's go."

  He descended the steps and the others trooped out. After he told Lou what happened, Michael turned to face them. “All right. We're going to head west, down the mountain. There's a little tourist town about halfway down. We should be able to rent a couple of cars there. Lawrence, Lou and I can trade off driving. Lawrence?"

  Lawrence moved through the gathering and joined them on the ground. “Where are we driving to?"

  "I'm not sure yet. Somewhere besides here."

  "Good plan, Michael. But I'm sensing a few flaws."

  The quiet voice came from around the corner of the house. A man in a dark suit stepped into the pool of light cast by the porch bulb. One arm extended and terminated in a gun. “One, there is nowhere on Earth you can hide from me. And two, I'm already here."

  Grace knew who he was before Michael reacted.

  "Zane. You lying son of a bitch."

  Keeping the gun trained on the three men, Zane turned cold blue eyes to the porch. “Why don't you ... children go back inside? I'll get to you in a few minutes. Don't bother running."

  Megan sent Grace a terrified glance. What should we do?

  I don't know...

  At once, Lawrence released a guttural roar and lunged toward Zane. Three reports rang out in rapid succession. Lawrence collapsed in a heap at Zane's feet.

  A chorus of cries erupted on the porch. “Lawrence!” Megan shrieked. She gained half a step before Grace and Evan both grabbed her and hauled her back. “No! I can save him. I can!” She struggled and heaved against their grip.

  Zane laughed. “Any more heroes here?” He nudged Lawrence's body with a foot. “I don't usually kill humans, but Dr. Jones here would have endangered my position with the government. Kyle, too. Thanks for getting rid of him for me, by the way.” His gaze fell on Lou. He waved his free hand. “You don't matter. You're a raving lunatic."

  Lou froze. His eyes widened, unblinking. His mouth opened and a runner of saliva oozed from one corner. He fell to his knees, paused. Keeled over and twitched. His open eyes unfocused, as though seeing something visible only to him.

  "What did you do?” Michael demanded.

  Zane shrugged. “I showed him the truth."

  "You bastard. He didn't do anything."

  "If you can insult me by existing, then he is guilty by association.” Zane moved forward, his features grim. “I don't want to shoot you. This is my official piece and I'll have to file a report. Decisions, decisions."

  Grace. Can you move that box toward the stairs?

  Michael hadn't looked her way. He kept his eyes on Zane, apparently trying to distract him. Grace waved Bailey aside, grabbed the box, and Reached to Michael. Say something so he doesn't hear what I'm doing.

  Michael glared at Zane. “Good for you. Personally, I think it's pretty pathetic that an angel has to rely on a gun."

  Grace settled the box on the top step while he spoke. Now what?

  Stand back.

  "Idiotic mule!” Zane lowered his arm. “You should count yourself fortunate. If another Host had found you first, you would have been destroyed long before now. At least I'll give you the dignity of a burial."

  While Zane spoke, three of the syringes rose from the box and steadied themselves in mid-air. They hovered for an instant, then flew toward him like darts to bury in his stomach. Zane snarled, glanced down. The plungers depressed in unison.

  "Why, Michael. Are you actually trying to stop me?” Zane pulled the syringes out with a grunt and tossed them aside. Immediately, another barrage launched itself. Two more hit home, and a third bounced to the grass.

  "Enough!” Zane moved like lightning. His empty hand clamped on Michael's throat and drove him to his knees on the grass. “You will die. And all of your vermin, too."

  Grace grabbed a syringe and leapt down the steps. Zane raised his gun arm without looking away from Michael. She caught Zane's wrist, forced it aside, and jammed the needle in his upper arm. She barely managed to push down the plunger before Zane jerked his arm free and fired at her.

  The impact knocked her flat. Her left shoulder went completely numb for an instant, and then screamed agony. Behind her, footsteps pounded the stairs. Zane released Michael's limp form, pivoted, and trained the gun in the direction of the porch.

  Megan knelt beside Grace and sat her up. Don't have much left. I'll do what I can. A hand settled between her shoulders. The pain eased enough to focus her vision.

  "You can't take us all out.” Megan panted and dropped to the ground.

  "Please. I don't even need this.” Zane straightened, lowered the weapon. “You Nephilim are pathetic. You have no idea what true power is.” He shook his head and wavered in place. Astonishment flashed in his eyes. “What..."

  "Feeling a little strange, Zane?” Michael's voice rasped from his crumpled throat. He pushed himself to a seated position. “A little weak? Maybe you're going to need that gun after all.” The gun flew out of Zane's hand and sailed over the camp house. “I hope one of your true powers is being able to see in the dark."

  "You...” Zane's features contorted in fury. He stepped toward Michael. Stopped. “That was my official piece.” He reached inside his jacket and drew out another gun. “This one isn't."

  Behind Zane, a figure materialized from nothing. Grace caught a glimpse of white clothing and red hair. The witch. Alone.

  The woman's shocked voice rang out. “Zane!"

  Zane's lips curved in a wicked smile. “Lorin. I've been looking for you.” He swung the gun at her and fired.

  A dark, jagged hole appeared in her stomach. Crimson blossomed on white. She crumpled to her knees, her eyes fixed on Zane in shock.

  "That should hold you for a few minutes. I'm busy.” Zane returned his attention to Michael. “Where were we? Oh, yes. Dying."

  As he moved toward Michael, Lorin vanished. A hand clamped on Grace's arm. A voice hissed near her ear. “You're mine to destroy, Nephil. Your friend can come along. Target practice."

  Grace glanced at Megan in horror. Lorin's other hand gripped the girl's shoulder.

  Zane's furious face was the last thing Grace saw before the world left.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 29

  You did not run.

  Silver whispered in her mind. Grace stood at the bottom of the ravine, alone and uninjured. Was she dreaming? The place felt alive. She smelled the forest, heard nature's night sounds fill the spaces above. The stone house stood just ahead. From here, she could determine its size—no bigger than a broom closet. Or a coffin. Shimmering argent liquid seeped beneath the door, pooled on the threshold, soaked the ground.

  Whether or not this was a dream, Zane was real.

  Grace struggled to beat back panic. Michael! The others! Please ... help them.

  A pause.

  It is done, Silver replied.

  Grace shivered. Thank you.

  I do not understand.

  Understand what?

  Thann ... kew.

  He didn't understand thank you? Grace frowned
. She moved toward the stone structure. It didn't get any closer. She stretched an arm out. Her fingertips brushed air two or three feet short of touching the surface.

  She will destroy you.

  Grace didn't have to ask who.

  The ground shook beneath her. She stumbled and collapsed. Above her, the ravine walls closed, met in mid-air, sealed off light and sound. The trembling continued. Her teeth chattered with it.

  Wake up, Nephil! You will witness your friend's death.

  The woman's voice. Lorin. She had been dreaming.

  Grace forced open eyelids that felt coated with cement. Lorin stood above her. The angel gave her another violent shake, released her abruptly and walked away. Grace sprawled on soft green velvet—a carpet of moss. Familiar sounds reached her ears. Familiar scents teased her nostrils. No dream this time.

  A brilliant full moon, directly above the ravine, illuminated the area but failed to reveal Megan. Grace shouted her name. Only the wind answered. She rolled, wincing as fresh agony slammed her shoulder. Righting herself proved an exercise in frustration. She gained a few inches and dropped back down when her muscles jerked with exertion. At last, she managed to achieve a half-inclined position with the uninjured arm wedged beneath her.

  Megan lay facedown and motionless on a tangle of dead branches against the side of the ravine five feet away. Her exposed skin was a sickly yellow-gray. At some point she'd lost a shoe. Though Grace couldn't tell with certainty, it looked like one shoulder hung lower than the other. Probably the one Lorin had gripped.

  Setting her jaw, Grace forced her spent body to cooperate long enough to sit up. There was the stone closet, lodged in the earthen wall a few yards beyond Megan. Lorin stood before it. The bullet wound still glistened darkly in her stomach. Blood had soaked all but her sleeves. She turned her head, bared her teeth at Grace in a rapacious grin. Her fingers slid through the spaces on either side of the door. She gripped the slab and pulled. The door moved with exquisite slowness as though mired in mud.

  A groan, low but audible, drifted from inside the structure. Though Grace had known the closet contained Silver, hearing him for the first time outside her head shocked her system. The pain in that soft sound eclipsed sensation, smothered thought.