“I’ll go take a look,” Darlington said. She thrust a thin finger at him and Reeve noticed she had short nails. “Don’t move.”
“Oh, as soon as you’re gone I’m going to be dancing the Macarena all around this place,” Reeve said.
Darlington frowned. “Nobody has danced the Macarena since the nineties, and if you revive it now, you’re going to drag half of hell back with it. I mean, we’re talking the Charleston being done on every street corner, the—”
“I’m sure this is about to turn into a really instructional lesson on trendy dances of the last hundred years,” Reeve said, “but my fuck count is at zero and rapidly dropping, so if you could just fix these ribs as best you can—”
“Nobody appreciates the healing power of wit,” Darlington said as she moved away toward the supply closet.
“Nick,” Donna whispered as soon as she was gone.
He looked right into his wife’s eyes, her grey hair falling in bangs over her forehead. “Yes, dear?”
“Are you all right?” she asked, clearly concerned.
“Well, I got a busted rib—”
“I know that much,” she said. “I’m asking if you’re all right, though. Otherwise.”
He peered at her, trying to figure out what she was getting at. Then he got it. “Oh, Lord, this is about last night again—”
“I’m just worried about your overall well-being, not just your ribs—”
“Well,” Reeve said, raising his voice a little louder than he’d intended, “in addition being actually impotent last night, right now I got people in harm’s way and can’t do a thing about it, so I’m feeling figuratively impotent as well. Does that answer your question?”
Donna blushed, and her eyes darted around. He doubted she could see anything without moving her head to look at the rest of the room, but he followed where she was plainly trying to look without moving her head, and he realized—
Aw, shit.
“Don’t worry, sheriff,” Brian Longholt said, plainly trying to keep in a good laugh. His mother was looking in another direction until he started speaking and then shot him a flaming look. “I hear it happens to guys your age.”
“This town really is going to hell,” Reeve opined.
*
The sound of gunfire held steady, and Hendricks was along the side of the porch now, perpendicular to the line of fire and glad to be out of it. There was a window along the side of the house that could either give him a chance to return fire and surprise the demons or maybe even provide an entry point. Either way, he was finally able to look up on the porch without fear of getting hit by a stray bullet—
When he looked up he saw Duncan with his shirt in tatters, standing dazed against one of the porch columns. He wanted to shout, “What the hell are you doing?” but it would have given away his position. So instead he tried to figure out what to do, staring at the OOC as he took four more rounds directly in the chest. He didn’t exactly shrug them off, more like took them hard, wavering a little, bouncing back against the porch column. The bullets were like little moles on his skin, flattened against the outside of the demon’s shell. The whole area reeked of powder, like he was back on the firing range at basic.
Hendricks started toward the window and thought the better of it; he had just reloaded his last mag, and he had seven shots. Not one of them would do anything more than stun the demons firing out, and that was assuming he could peg them from across the house. He figured that was at least twenty, thirty feet. He was decent with a 1911, but in a combat situation where they could turn and hose him with 5.56 rounds? Adrenaline would bring that accuracy right down, making it unlikely he’d do much of anything.
“Shit,” he whispered to himself, keeping his eyes on Duncan while he ran through plans. He could storm the back of the house, try and sneak up on the demons. They had to run out of bullets eventually, didn’t they? The most recently fired shots peeled off Duncan’s chest as he rose back to his feet from a hard lean, and Hendricks expected they clunked to the porch floor, though he couldn’t hear it over the sound of shots firing.
Magazines. The demons couldn’t have more than a few mags loaded, and even if they had a thousand rounds, they wouldn’t be able to effectively reload the mags. But they had that shotgun, too, and that’d be a decent covering weapon while they did reload … and with demon speed, they could probably get a mag reloaded in half the time it’d take a human, maybe a little more, given proficiencies …
“Fuck,” Hendricks said. There really was no good way to crack this particular nut. Duncan should have been able to just wade in and cause havoc, but he was lumbering like a robot or something, seemingly unable to control his body. Sneaking around the back was starting to sound like a better and better option to Hendricks. He’d have to do this up close and personal, though, getting the drop on them before they could turn and splatter him all over the wall with that shotgun …
A screech of tires caused him to snap around as a vehicle mounted the curb and came to an abrupt stop on the front lawn. Hendricks cringed at the sound of the frame walloping concrete as it climbed onto the grass and bounced down hard against metal as it did so. Sounded like a car crash. He saw the sheriff’s markings along the side of the Crown Vic and had a wicked suspicion he knew who’d just come charging into the party before he saw the blond hair catch the sunlight as she bailed out the driver’s door and went around the side toward the trunk, which was wide open.
Erin was here.
*
Chester watched the sheriff’s car jump the curb at forty miles an hour and rip to a halt on the front lawn, leaving torn-up sod and messy grass everywhere. He wondered if the homeowner was complaining within Charity’s mind. What they had done today was so anathema, so different from what he would normally have done or endorsed or considered acceptable that Chester very much felt as though he had undergone some sort of dreamlike metamorphosis. It was as though he had fallen into a darkness that he could not escape.
“What should we do?” Charity asked, raising the rifle to her shoulder again. She pounded six shots in a row into the OOC that had been assaulting their front door through the window, which was more or less bereft of glass at this point. The OOC wavered, his essence doubtlessly compressed and jolted by the force of the rifle impacts. It wasn’t quite unconsciousness, but it most certainly did not leave him at his best.
“I have one more load of supplies,” Chester said. “Bentley is carrying them now. We can leave.”
“If we do,” Mary said through the mouth of the teenage boy, “this OOC will be on his feet and after us in seconds.”
Chester thought about that for a moment. “Perhaps—”
“You should leave this with us,” Charity said, firing again, the gun stopping after three rounds and producing a clicking noise that told Chester it was empty of rounds.
Chester bristled. “I will not leave you behind to—”
“We will be along shortly,” Mary said, not deigning to look at him. “We cannot let this OOC pass. If he catches you and the rest—”
“He must not,” Charity said, looking back as she ejected the empty magazine from the rifle and slapped another in. She pulled back on a lever and a loud clacking noise came from the rifle. She brought it around and fired straight into the OOC once more. He danced as though electrified, disoriented by all the hits to his shell. “All else is in your hands, but you must leave this in ours.”
“We cannot lose any more,” Chester said, whispering hoarsely.
“Lose us or lose the plan,” Mary said. “We will all be together again, in the depths. There is no turning from that course now.”
Chester closed his eyes for a moment. He had not said it yet, but he knew in that moment that it was true; there was no happiness without William and his fellows. They would never be whole again without them, and to believe otherwise was … foolish. Naive. There was an immense hole right through the middle of them, and Chester felt it acutely, as did the othe
rs, though their howls of rage belied their ocean-deep sense of loss.
“We will make good your escape,” Charity said, firing again. “And we will join you if we can, if it is safe.”
The howl of gunfire covered over a grave quiet as the collective fell into solemnity. “We will miss you,” Chester said simply. “We will be together again, when this is all over.”
“Hurt them for us,” Charity said, her demon face leaking out from behind the human mask.
“Make them know pain as we have known pain,” Mary said. “Visit it upon them a hundred, a thousandfold for what they have done to us and ours.”
“This thing will be done,” Chester said, and with a last nod at them, he sprinted out the back of the house and ran across the wide, green lawn to the waiting car. He heard the gunshots continue as he got in, and they pulled away with a squeal of tires, leaving behind yet another sacrifice in what was certain to be a bloody war. But one they would most assuredly win, Chester knew. For what other choice was there?
And who could stop them?
*
Braeden Tarley was damned happy to get Abi out of that mess, so happy he barely had her in her car seat before he was starting the truck and blazing out of there. He could still hear the chatter of rifle fire behind them, and he stomped that accelerator like in the old days. The cops clearly had better things to be doing than chasing him right now, anyway, and he meant to get the hell away from potential danger as fast as his truck would go.
“Daddy, why did Miss Cweek leave? Where did she go?” Abi’s words all ran together, and she was still pronouncing her R’s like W’s.
“I don’t know, baby,” Braeden said, white-knuckling the wheel. He still had the window open, and it drowned Abi out as she said something else. He rolled up fast and said, “What, darlin’?”
“Where are we going?” Abi asked. “Are we going back to Miss Cweek’s house?”
“No,” Braeden said tightly. His brain was at war with itself, trying to fight through to an answer for what was happening. Demons didn’t use rifles, did they? And didn’t Arch and Alison sound like they were worried about someone getting shot? That made Braeden even more suspicious of this shit, like they were hiding something or not telling something that they knew. It’d just about figure for the cops to be lying, of course.
“Daddy …?” Abi asked, and he paused because she sounded cute and a little worried.
“Yes, baby?”
“Are we going home?”
Braeden blinked. That was probably the best idea, wasn’t it? They were out of Midian that way, a little outside town. That was safe enough, surely. “Yeah, baby,” he said, taking the next turn as he adopted his daughter’s very sensible suggestion. “Yeah, we are.”
*
Hendricks figured out why Erin had popped the cruiser’s trunk about ten seconds before she opened up with the department’s AR-15, letting loose a volley of return fire that made him cringe. This wasn’t a war zone, in spite of how it probably sounded at the moment, and as small as the 5.56 shells were, they still had a tendency to overpenetrate through walls. He had a brief vision of some poor old lady sitting in the house behind this one and catching a round in the back of the head, not even knowing what hit her.
“Shit,” Hendricks muttered again. The demon’s AR chattered back and hosed the side of Erin’s car, puncturing holes all over the word “Sheriff.” One of the tires popped, though he didn’t hear it so much as see the sudden sag in the frame.
Hendricks decided his course pretty quick at that point. Duncan was still dazed on the front porch and didn’t look to be coming out of it anytime soon. Whatever they were doing by splashing him with rifle fire was not doing him any favors. It was like they’d knocked out his brain or something, and all he could do was flail.
With a sigh, Hendricks popped up and started unloading through the side window. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but if there was any hope of distracting these bastards long enough to make something happen, this was it.
*
Amanda Guthrie could feel something stirring in the wind. At least, that was what she told herself. It sounded better than the truth, which was that she could hear gunshots off in the distance, even through the hotel’s walls.
She walked across the room, still in her pajamas, and put a hand on the windowpane. It was cool, and she figured the air outside was likely in the range of crisp. The parking lot below was sparsely populated, and she reached out with her essence through the hand and could feel the disruption of the bullets being fired, somewhere in the distance. It was nothing magical, just her senses being far more refined than those of a human or the other animals like them. In this case, it was the vibration the sound waves caused. She could feel it in her essence, even though it was probably happening half a mile from her.
The OOC was involved. She was almost certain of that. That was all right, though. He’d survive gunshots.
Survive so she could unleash what she had planned for him. And it was gonna be a doozy.
*
Hendricks didn’t hear another car screech up because it was a street away, but he did see Bill Longholt come sneaking across the wide open space of the back lawn while Hendricks was belly-crawling his ass along the side of the house toward the back so he could perform a rear entry. He doubted the demons were going to enjoy that, but it looked to him like Bill was going to make it before he did, which suited him just fine. He’d heard the blast of the shotgun peppering the window he’d just shot into and knew he’d dodged that return fire. Of course, it had meant he only got off about three shots, not so well aimed, before he had thrown himself sideways and started his journey on his stomach, but that was a lot smarter than getting tapped in the head by a rifle round. He wouldn’t just be struck dumb like Duncan, after all.
He waved to get Bill’s attention, and the older man saw him. He didn’t want to say anything in case the demons inside could hear over the thundering of their own shots and Erin’s. They might be able to; Hendricks had seen demons detect some shit he would have considered well-nigh impossible.
Another shotgun blast behind him sent pieces of glass tinkling onto the sill. Fortunately, Hendricks was a good twenty feet away and opening the distance, but it distracted him for a second and when he looked back, Bill had already run into cover behind the house, out of his sight.
“Well, damn,” Hendricks muttered, hurrying up. He was going to try and warn Bill about the fact that Erin was adding some pretty heavy fire to the equation, and all of it was heading through to where Bill was. There was only one thing for it, really. “INCOMING!” he shouted, figuring even an old Army guy would catch his meaning on that one. He heard the thump of the older man hitting the ground in a break between shots and reckoned he’d done right. Then he rolled sideways a few times to get close to the concrete foundation of the house, figuring it’d be a good defense in case one of the demons tried firing that AR through the floor to direct some bullets his way.
He made the corner as things started to heat up out front again, and this time it sounded like Erin was going all out, and like maybe the goddamned demons had finally run out of mags. That was a plus in his view, because it meant—
Hendricks heard a pitched scream and automatically turned to look, even though an entire house was between him and the screamer. It sounded like a woman but was muffled by the paneling and windows and all else. He dug in with his elbows and started crawling with even more fervor, wet grass brushing against his coat and the canvas dragging along behind him like a tail. He could feel a few rocks underneath his t-shirt, pushing against his belly and his johnson as he hurried along. He caught sight of Bill at the rear door, on his own belly.
The rear door was three concrete steps up from the ground, and Hendricks could see the grass was disturbed just outside, between him and the steps, like something heavy had been laying there real recently. He brushed that on out of his mind in a hurry, figuring he had way, way more important things to focus on at
the moment. Bill peered up over the top step. Now he was crouched, using the concrete foundation of the house as cover against the shots, but wisely not busting in the back door just yet. A bullet burst out of the wall above Hendricks, showering his hat brim with wood splinters. Another reason to wear the thing, as far as he was concerned. He was hard-pressed to tell whether that was one of Erin’s strays or one of the demons in the house getting wild with their weapon.
The sound of footsteps thumping hard on wood floors echoed in a gap in the fire. Hendricks’s ears were surprisingly keen at the moment; he figured he had enough adrenaline going through his system that the gunfire wasn’t bothering him—yet. It’d catch up later, though, sure as shit, and he’d hear the ringing of bells, that klaxon-like sound.
Hendricks figured out what was happening a second after Bill did. Someone was coming at the back door, and fast. Bill stuck out his consecrated cavalry saber just over the second step, and it caught the runner right at the shins, causing them to spill over and nicking them a little at the same time. Hendricks gave the man kudos for that; it was smarter than he would have figured an Army guy would be.
It was a blond-haired woman who went tripping down the second step and sprawled on the small concrete patio. She screamed as she flailed and landed hard, the sound of a demon being sucked back to hell crying out of her lips. A stink of brimstone blossomed over the area and hit Hendricks in the face, but it faded in a second. The woman landed hard on her wrist, and he heard the crack. That was going to hurt in the morning. And right now.
“Damn, Brenda,” Bill said, on his feet way too soon for Hendricks’s peace of mind. He would have let the woman writhe a bit, make sure nothing else was coming out that back door before he left cover. “I’m awful sorry about that.”
The woman was clutching her wrist, moaning in pain, but she locked eyes with Bill. “Oh, thank God, Bill. You got those damned things out of my head. They were—I couldn’t—oh, my God.” Her voice got quiet. “I left my baby—”
Legion (Southern Watch Book 5) Page 20
