by Gina Ranalli
“Why were you watching us?”
“I think you’re cute,” Cash told her and winked.
Sam reared back for another swing but Helena said his name sharply, causing him to hesitate.
“Yeah, Sam,” Cash said. “Where’s your sense of romance?”
“Shut up,” Helena barked at him. Did he want to be killed? If he kept taunting Sam the way he was, she didn’t trust her abilities to keep her partner in check for long and this one was… different. That didn’t mean Cash was good or that he didn’t have something up his sleeve. He probably did. For all they knew, the house was being surrounded even as they stood here. Quinn was upstairs, keeping an eye on things, but that might not mean much. Who knew what direction they would come from if they decided to swarm? Quinn couldn’t be watching everywhere at once and there were no windows in this part of the basement. It had, many long years ago, been a root cellar and at some point, someone had painted the entire thing-walls, ceiling and floors-a deep maroon color. It was eerie but solid, with only the bulkhead as a means of escape and those doors were locked down with thick chains and industrial padlocks. The door from which they entered gave on the rest of the basement and had previously been wooden but now it was four-inch thick solid steel, bolted into the concrete. Not even a creature like Cash could get through it, no matter how enraged it might become.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Helena told Cash. “Why were you watching us?”
Cash wiggled his wrists, which were chained to the arms of the chain. “I’d probably be more…what’s the word? Forthcoming,” he smiled. “If I was a little more comfortable.”
Sam said, “You think you’d be more comfortable with no arms at all? ‘Cause that can be arranged, I guaran-fucking-tee it.”
Helena was tired and her right hip was sore from standing. She’d been clawed deeply by one of these bastards years ago. The thing had taken away a huge chuck of her and the old wound would ache from time to time. Sometimes so bad it would make her queasy.
“I guess we’ll just have to see if you change your mind about talking after you’ve been sitting here for a week or two,” she told Cash.
For the first time, he looked concerned with his predicament.
“You don’t like the sound of that, do you?” she asked. “But we have all the time in the world.”
Sam glanced at her. They’d know each other long enough that they were able to almost read each other’s thoughts and he decided to play along. He looked back at Cash.
“That’s true. There’s a fine bottle of bourbon upstairs with my name on it. What do you say Helena? I bought a roast yesterday too. We could kick back and relax while this monster stews in his juices until he’s chewing his own lips off to drink himself.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. “I’m beat.”
“It’s a deal then.” He started to turn away from Cash, then quickly spun back and hit him again. “Damn. I never get tired of doing that.” He smiled and Helena knew it was as genuine as his words. “I’m just sorry you didn’t put a hole in his skull.”
She finally let the shotgun fall to her side. “It’s just for show. Not even loaded.” She thought she saw Cash’s eyes narrow just a fraction. It was lie-the shotgun was absolutely loaded, but not needed. The chains would hold, there was no doubt, but in the past the shotgun had made a very convincing and intimidating prop.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said and she and Sam left the dungeon, pulling on the light-bulb chain and casting the room into total darkness before closing and bolting the door behind them.
They waited to see if Cash would shout but when he didn’t, Helena shrugged and they both climbed the stairs and joined Quinn in the living room.
He turned from the window as they entered. “Nothing doing. But, you know, I had this thought while you were down there. About his cell phone. What if it can be traced? If the others have his GPS, it would lead them right to us.”
“Way ahead of you, kid,” Sam said and pulled a crunched phone from his hip pocket. “First thing I did when we got him chained up. Not that a signal can get through so easily down there but better safe than sorry.”
Quinn was visibly relieved.
To Helena, Sam said, “I wasn’t kidding down there. You feel like a roast? I’m starving.”
“Sounds good,” she said, moving to the couch and sinking gratefully into it, the shotgun resting across her lap.
Sam left the room, heading for the kitchen and she sighed heavily. She hadn’t realized just how tired she really was until she was sitting down. Her hip lessened its wail but still ached steadily enough for her to long for that booze Sam had mentioned.
“Do me a favor, Quinn? Pour me a drink, would you?”
“Sure. You okay?”
“Yeah, just…weary, I suppose.”
Quinn poured three fingers of whiskey from a bottle on the desk into a tumbler and handed it to her. “What are we gonna do with him?”
She took a long, gratifying swallow, grimaced as it burned her throat, but in a good way. “Depends on him. If he doesn’t talk by tomorrow, we’ll chop off his fucking head and be done with it.”
“Tomorrow?” He was surprised.
“We don’t have time for this bullshit. Other fish to fry. Have you learned any more about that Meadows guy?”
“Just that he’s being buried day after tomorrow.”
“You got a location?”
“Floral Hills Cemetery.”
“Oh, good,” she said and took another drink. “Practically our home away from home.”
They heard Sam lumbering around in the kitchen and it almost made her smile in spite of everything. There was a part of her that reared up every so often, a part of her that loved this life and couldn’t imagine it being any other way. She enjoyed the feeling. It was a sense of home and family-the only one she’d ever known. It gave her purpose and a satisfaction that she was doing some good in a world that was both darker than most people imagined and, in its own bizarre way, brighter. There were monsters in the dark, certainly. A lot of them, both human and nonhuman, but she wasn’t afraid and hadn’t been for a very long time. She was one of the good guys and even if the good guys didn’t ultimately win, at least they would go down swinging and eventually others would rise up in their place. The monsters would be flushed out of the dark and into sunlight where they would be burned to ash and blown away until not even a memory remained.
CHAPTER 9
Bliss went against his better judgment and tried calling Cash from a gas station the next afternoon. The phone went directly to voice mail, which he found curious but not alarming.
He stood in a fine drizzle, filling the tank of his black, 2002 Indian Scout motorcycle while Walter and Opal went into the station’s store to buy what he could only assume was beer. John and Melosia stayed in the Bronco and even with the windows rolled up, Bliss could hear the melodic sound of the Eagles, one of John’s favorite bands.
He put his phone away and nodded to a woman walking through the parking lot. She looked away quickly, probably one of those never make eye contact with a stranger types. Her loss, Bliss thought and smiled to himself, remembering what had happened between himself and Opal the previous evening. It had been a long time between ruts for him and he felt lighter for it today.
A scream from inside the store caught his attention and he turned to see the woman he’d nodded to racing out the door, a terrified expression on her face.
He sighed. “Shit.”
Walking over to the Bronco, he rapped the window with his knuckles. When John and Melosia looked up at him, he jerked a thumb toward the store. That was all they needed. Both were out of the vehicle an instant later and the three of them strode toward the store quickly, but not too quickly.
Upon entering, it was impossible to miss the carnage. Walt, fully transformed, knelt over the body of an elderly man with raw bloody hamburger where his throat had been. The next moment, he was not identif
iable as an elderly man, as Walt proceeded to chew the face clean off his skull.
Opal was behind the counter holding a teenager girl by the back of her neck. She had only partially transformed, her claws sinking deep into young flesh, but she was still somewhat recognizable as human. Or what passed as human.
In the snacks aisle, another body ripped to shreds lay face down in a lake of blood.
“What happened?” Bliss asked Opal, none too happy with this current circumstance.
“News,” Opal said and squeezed the teenager’s neck while nodding up at a TV mounted on the wall in the corner. “A security cam picked us up on the street last night. Our pictures are plastered all over the fucking place.”
Bliss made an annoyed clucking sound with his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “And you decided to make the situation worse?”
“It was Walt. He went crazy.”
“Well, they don’t call it blood lust for nothing.” He walked over to where Walt was feasting and kicked him hard in the side, making the creature cry out in surprise and pain, looking up at Bliss with eyes full of fury, his monstrous face covered in a mask of gleaming blood.
“Let’s go,” Bliss told him, before returning his attention to Opal. “Finish her.”
Opal obeyed without hesitation, tearing the girl’s head from her body in one effortless yank. The body slouched to the floor, hitting it with a thud and blood sprayed over Opal in thick rivulets.
Bliss closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to lose his temper. Now they’d have to worry about two of their gang being spotted drenched in blood instead of just one.
“Gunnar.”
It was Melosia. Bliss opened his eyes and followed her gaze with his own. A group of four guys were walking in the direction of the store, all of them dressed in matching football jerseys and ball caps.
“Fuck me,” Bliss muttered. His usual good mood was rapidly deteriorating and he quickly began undressing. Melosia and John followed suit, tossing the discarded the clothing onto the nearest top shelf and all three of them were nude by the time the four men entered the store.
The gang was ready for a massacre and they performed their slaughters with the grace of ballet dancers. The screams were deafening but brief and it was all over in less than two minutes. They were blood demons now, all of them, snarling and snapping, hungry for more, always hungry for more.
Even Bliss sometimes had a difficult time returning to his human shape after a kill and he’d been doing it for over ninety years. There was something so freeing about taking the shape of the beast. It was pure adrenalin and instinct; it was all about the feeding and the frenzy. The feel of warm blood coating one’s skin was very close to orgasmic and, once started, nearly impossible to stop.
What Bliss and the others wanted to do most was leave the store in their current forms and prowl the town, hunt down every living thing unfortunate enough to cross their paths and rip that being limb from limb, rejoice in its cries, bathe in its blood and shove flesh and organs down their own gullets.
Someday.
Bliss lived for that day, whenever it might come-had been waiting for it forever but was determined to live it. Someday in the not too distant future. The world would be theirs.
Not now, though.
With great effort, he concentrated, watching his claws recede back into human-shaped fingers, the pain of the process excruciating and full of regret. His arms and legs shrunk until he was no longer on all fours and able to stand upright again. His tusks and jaw and body spikes all withdrew from sight, sinking back into his skin with a sound like gravy being sucked through a straw.
They had to get out of here fast, before anyone else showed up. He knew they would undoubtedly make another appearance on yet another security camera but he wasn’t particularly worried about it. At least they were in the general vicinity as they’d been the previous night. Monsters were on the loose in this town, in this state. Not in the next or the one after the next. Besides, there were others to clean up after them. There always had been. People with some semblance of power, who would erase tapes and lock away any surviving witnesses in insane asylums. These types of happenstances were a nuisance, yes, but in no way insurmountable.
The others morphed back into their human forms and those of them who were able quickly redressed. Both Walter and Opal were now nude but the three others shielded their nakedness by walking in a tight circle around them. Bliss knew from experience that you could murder a person on the side of the road and not a single car would slow down to investigate, but if any driver caught a glimpse of naked flesh, they’d not only slow down for a better look but they’d also bring out their cameras and sometimes even turn their cars around for a second viewing.
They made it to their vehicles without incident, and Bliss was back on the road less than a minute later. The others were not far behind him, Walt and Opal struggling to dress in fresh clothing while bumping into each other in the backseat.
Bliss couldn’t believe the situation. They’d have to find somewhere to clean up properly, as even he, John and Melosia were visibly bloody in the slaughter’s aftermath. Undressing did little to prevent hair and faces and knuckles and such from collecting drops and smears of blood.
He checked himself out in the rearview mirror and, as always, was grateful for the hat he constantly wore while in human form.
Eyes back on the road, he considered what he might say to Walter once they were someplace safe. He was tempted to end the idiot for freaking out back there. It made trouble for everyone. Not so much trouble that it couldn’t be fixed but it wasn’t the first time the guy had gone off the rails like that. Walter Hobbs was not known for his patience or self-control and that had always been an issue. Bliss didn’t like having to reprimand anyone but he did what was necessary for the gang’s survival. It always came first. It was something his own creator had taught him back in 1925. Duffy had been his name and Bliss still missed him every day despite having been the one who’d eventually had to take him out. Duffy had gotten sloppy and careless, in much the same way Walt had been behaving. He stopped following the rules he himself had written. In truth, Bliss knew Duffy had gone insane. His origins had started in the old west, a white man in Nevada minding his own business and attacked one starry night outside a quiet saloon. Bliss had heard the story so many times it felt more like a memory of his own. Duffy had been turned and then left to fend for himself, having to make his own way and blaze his own trail without knowing even what he was, other than a vicious, ravenous monster. He’d discovered by accident that he could make more just like him, while in the midst of a bloodbath, he’d gorged himself and left one victim with only a single bite taken out of his side. Duffy, sated and content, had fallen asleep in the middle of the Indian reservation he had just decimated and awoke to find a brave feasting on the surviving members of his own family.
Bliss smiled. Lord, how he missed his old friend. He’d told the tale so well, Bliss could remember his belly aching with laughter. He tried to keep the spirits of his own gang just as high as Duffy had kept his in those first few decades of new life. He thought he did a pretty good job. He was a fine leader and though he still could not name what he was-a demon of some sort, perhaps?-he doubted anyone else could have done any better. He took pride in his pack and hoped to grow it further, which was why he was so reluctant to end Walt.
A punishment, then, he thought. Bliss would have to whip Walt like a dog and hope the beating stuck this time. If not…well, he’d have to deal with it when the time came but for now, getting cleaned up and safe was the first priority. And maybe fucking Opal again. That was a nice thought and the one he concentrated on until it was time to pull over once more.
CHAPTER 10
Helena was asleep when the screaming began.
She sat straight up in her bed, almost as alert as she would have been if completely awake. Tossing back the covers, she swung her legs out of the bed and nearly jumped into her jeans. Already in a well-w
orn T-shirt, she raced into the hall in bare feet and almost tumbled down the stairs.
Quinn was seated at the desk in the living room, his eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “Sam’s downstairs with the monster. He said to ignore-”
She didn’t wait for him to finish, instantly turning and running for the basement door.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she chanted as she went down. The door to the root cellar was closed but she clearly heard Sam shouting, which was probably a good sign. She doubted he’d be yelling at a corpse but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t have one on their hands soon enough.
Yanking open the heavy door, she called Sam’s name, praying he’d stop whatever it was he was doing, and when she actually saw what he was doing, she was both horrified and relived she’d woken up when she had.
The top of Cash’s left forearm was peeled back, the skin curled over his wrist like a gory ribbon, dripping blood onto the maroon cement floor. His chin rested against his chest, a string of drool puddling on his T-shirt. He didn’t appear to be conscious but he was alive.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Helena shouted at Sam, who stood with an enormous hunting knife in his fist. The blade was streaked crimson and he had blood splattered all over him. Sweat and blood mingled in fine droplets in his beard and hair and he had a crazed look in his steel blue eyes.
He’d been at the torture for a while, judging by the state of things.
“He heals too quickly,” Sam told her. “I had to do something he would feel.”
Helena stood staring at him, speechless.
“Tell her,” Cash mumbled, barely audible, without lifting his head. “Go on. Tell her, old man.”
Her gaze shifting from Sam to Cash and back again, she said, “Tell me what?”
“Shut up,” Sam shrieked, and thrust the blade into Cash’s chest. “You shut the fuck up, you fucking maggot!”
Cash screamed in agony and Helena rushed forward, trying to put herself between Sam and the prisoner, grabbing Sam’s arm.
