Brett frowned. “They planned to feed on us. The beasts prefer living meals. If we had failed…”
He trailed off. His expression darkened. I didn’t dwell on the thought, as I reached out to hold his hand.
“But now they’re gonna be ash for the lawn,” Trudie growled, her maw bloodied. She wasn’t dwelling on what could have happened. What did happen is what mattered.
I noted that Krieg looked at my werewolf friend with shock and disgust. Something to watch out for. But not now.
“We’ve beaten one of the founders, Crusaders!” I announced. “And none of us has fallen. I call this victory!”
Cheers erupted throughout the church as I held Ithalen aloft.
But Cindy was rubbing her chin.
“What is it, Cins?” I asked, a bit of cheer fading as my newly wedded friend rubbed her forehead.
She frowned. “Not everyone is here. There are patrols still on duty. What…what if this wasn’t the only attack?”
As if fate itself was waiting, all our phones rang at once. A simple message.
SOS – from every patrol on duty.
Chapter 7. Statement
The sun had finally set in earnest over Hope City, as the Crusaders set out in convoys towards the last known locations of our comrades. All Crusaders closest to me and Cindy had been at the wedding, but that still left dozens of brave hunters to patrol the streets and answer calls for the hunt.
Anxiety and fear were palpable within Brett’s van, as we rushed towards the slums. Three patrols had sent out an SOS from within that hive of decay. Many more had rung out from across the city.
I didn’t want to spread our dwindling numbers so thin, but did I really have a choice? If every patrol was in danger, then we needed to save every patrol. That was what it meant to be a Crusader. No one left behind.
Trudie’s werewolves bounded towards an SOS in the forests around Table Mountain, while Kyong and Heather (both healed) led groups across the city, answering every SOS.
That left us to go into the slums. I wouldn’t send any of my men to do this themselves. In the labyrinth of shanties and remnants of two necro-empires, we were sure to find the worst resistance.
Cindy and Guy accompanied Krieg, Brett and me. The Blood Hunters disappeared into the night, promising to cover more ground themselves. Guy said we could trust them. I wasn’t inclined to argue. We needed all the help we could get.
“Something is odd…” Cindy announced, as she peered at the portable computer in the back of the van.
“What is it?” I asked, feeling frustration and trepidation mounting. All joy and levity from the wedding had long since faded.
She picked up the computer and showed me the screen.
The three SOS signals in the slums were blinking, as they had been doing before, but had come closer together. And with every blink, they moved.
“They’re moving?”
Cindy nodded, gravely.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Brett offered. “It means they’re still alive.”
Cindy and Guy shared a look. They weren’t so confident.
“Perhaps they’re regrouping,” I added. “Setting up a stronger front against whatever is attacking them.”
“Then why aren’t they answering our calls?” Cindy replied.
I bit my lip and turned to face the road once again.
“Have hope, Kat,” Treth insisted, but I could hear the doubt and fear in his voice.
Cindy gave directions to Brett, as we ramped over potholes and through side roads to finally arrive outside a massive, ruined tenement. The structure was pitch black emphasised by the lack of lights, outlined by the glow of the city behind it.
I stepped outside of the van, Ithalen ready. My coat burst to life, but the orange glow only went so far.
The street was quiet. An eerie silence. Almost foreboding.
“All three SOS signals have merged inside that building,” Cindy indicated, stowing the computer and accepting an automatic pistol from Guy. Her magic was powerful, but bullets were usually faster.
“Treth, can you scout ahead?” I asked.
My ghostly companion manifested before me and nodded, before jogging towards the tenement.
“Treth?” Krieg asked, incredulous.
“Long story,” Brett replied. Sure was.
“Door is clear,” Treth announced, teleporting by my side. “It’s unlocked. No sign of forced entry.”
I took the lead. My friends followed. Quietly. Despite the empty street, and that our lights already made us stick out like fire elementals in a tundra, we kept quiet. No one uttered a word.
I let Treth open the door as I held Ithalen aloft, ready to strike. The door creaked open on rusty hinges. The groaning sound travelled through the building. So much for stealth! But, I was pretty sure that whatever was in this building with our comrades already knew we were here. Our job was to notice them before they had their fangs inch deep into our necks.
“Stick together,” I ordered, voice hushed. Splitting up, unless desperate to cover more ground, was always a foolish move.
Brett and Krieg watched our flanks. My boyfriend carried his shotgun, while Krieg was armed with a submachine gun from Brett’s collection. They both had combat knives and hatchets on their sides. Good. Close combat was going to be inevitable in such confined quarters.
Treth stayed just far enough ahead that he could scout for us, while still being able to shout or teleport back to me. He walked slowly, while almost gliding above the ground. As a spirit, he wasn’t really affected by gravity. Or the laws of physics. But he hadn’t developed a propensity for flying. Yet, at least. I wondered what he would do when I sprouted angel wings again.
The warm glow of my coat was not enough to fully light up the hallways, and even our flashlights always fell short of these never-ending tunnels.
We crossed past closed and half open doors to long abandoned apartments. The smell of rotting rat flesh and faeces wafted through the halls every so often. Too rank and old to have anything to do with our comrades. I hoped.
Our footfalls, and the shifting of gear upon our backs as we scanned our surroundings, were the only sounds. Jarring in contrast to the terrifying silence of the night.
We stopped every so often by apartment doors, nudging them open with our weapons, ready to fight whatever nightmare hid within. We found nothing. Nothing but the carcasses of a long lost life. I wondered what monster, necromancer, gang or epidemic had left this building abandoned. It had plenty of rooms. It should be a goldmine in an overcrowded city of squalor. What horrors could keep away the desperate from such a place?
I peered out a window, caked in dirt. I could see nothing on the other side but couldn’t help but feel that something was watching me through the blackness. I sped up my pace.
This place was dark. Not only because of the lack of light, but in the way everything felt. Oppressive. Claustrophobic. As if the inky black were walls, and they were pressing in.
We found ourselves back where we had started, by the entrance. We had scouted the entire bottom floor of this damned building.
Brett indicated a stairway with the flashlight mounted on his shotgun.
I proceeded, wincing as every step whined and groaned under my weight. I feared the stairs would give out from under us. I stopped on the next floor, pressed in by the darkness of endlessly criss-crossing halls. I couldn’t imagine living here. Like an ant in a colossal nest. Every hall looked alike. Every door was the same. How could one not get lost?
Treth surveyed the entryways to each hall, as I listened to the creaking behind me as everyone mounted the stairs, letting out a chorus of almost spectral whines.
Guy finally arrived at the top, and the night went silent once again. I started to miss the stairway symphony.
Treth didn’t give any indication of which hall was best. I wished we could just track the SOS beacons. But they weren’t powerful enough to track their exact locations within this mess. And
we didn’t want to alert our enemies by shouting out for our comrades.
I stepped forward, deciding to take the middle hallway, as Guy grabbed my shoulder. I stopped.
In the faint glow of my fire coat, I watched him point down the hall to the left, then cup his ear.
“Listen,” he was signalling.
I tip-toed towards the left hallway, holding my left hand over my ear, while my grip tightened on Ithalen’s hilt.
I heard nothing. Just the eerie stillness of this damnable place.
Just silence…
And then, a faint chatter.
Sound!
Noticing the excitement in my gait, and the tenseness of my shoulders, my comrades formed a combat formation. A wedge with me at front, guarding Cindy in the middle.
We advanced towards the noise in the night.
It grew louder at our approach. Clearer. It was an inane chatter, peppered with an odd warble. As we drew closer, I realised that the sound was laughter. A crowd laughing. But muffled and distant. Even more so than the source of the sound itself.
It was only when we entered the last hall, where we saw light pooling outside an open double-door, that we heard clearly what was being said.
Jokes. A back and forth between sitcom actors, punctuated by canned laughter.
A TV.
The presence of life and civilisation in these dead halls should have calmed me. Instead, it sent a chill down my spine.
Treth went ahead, as we kept close behind him. He stopped dead, his vision glued to whatever was inside this room. We didn’t give him a chance to warn us.
The room had, once upon a time, been some sort of hall. Perhaps a community centre when this building still had life. It had a higher ceiling than most of the rooms, and a large open space.
And every inch of it was covered in glistening red.
The TV played an old sitcom from pre-Cataclysm. A stark contrast to what lay around it. I recognised the faces, but my mind wilfully forgot their names. I couldn’t bear to give individuality to the corpses. I don’t think I could have handled the scene if I did.
“Fucking monsters…” Krieg swore, revulsion and rage in his voice, as he stepped forward, his boots splashing on the blood coating the floors.
I didn’t move. My eyes unconsciously darted around the scene, trying not to look, but needing to see.
At once, the scene came at me in a rush. Every last detail. The crucifixions. The agony in their eyes. The impaled heads on either side of the door, watching the television set in perpetual torment.
I had known these men and women. Cindy counted under her breath, then covered her mouth. In disgust and abject horror.
I had already guessed it. Eighteen Crusaders, strewn across a room, bathed in their own blood, as an outdated sitcom played on a TV held by their severed arms.
I staggered forward. Blood dripped from the ceiling, hissing as it hit my coat.
I saw three blinking lights on top of the TV. The beacons. Neatly arranged on top.
“Stay alert,” Guy said. Calm. But I heard just a slight crack in his voice. “They could still be here. It may be a trap.”
“This isn’t a trap,” Brett announced, his voice dark. Husky. There was barely held rage there, as his eyes remained glued to the head of one of his friends.
“This was a statement. Not a single drop has been drunk. There was no feeding. No hunger. This was a slaughter for its own sake. And they wanted us to know. They wanted us to fear, as much as our friends did. This isn’t a trap. This isn’t a battle. This is terror.”
As if in response to Brett’s statement, the sitcom ended, and the jingle of Hope City News began to play. I paid it no mind. It was a dull, white noise at the back of my head, as my soul screamed for the comrades I had lost.
Until the TV spoke my name.
“Kat Drummond,” a voice came from the TV.
I turned towards the screen. I recognised the set. It was the Hope City News set. Anchor’s desk and all. And the usual anchor was there, with a knife at her throat.
A dark skinned man with long, dreadlocked hair, red eyes and perfectly normal human teeth stood behind the anchor, holding a curved dagger to her throat.
In the background, dark figures held the rest of the crew hostage. Including a familiar, white-haired figure.
“Miriam…” I exclaimed, a barely contained sob in my voice. Oh, Rifts! What had happened? What had we done to let this happen?!
“My name is Ukwesaba Igazi of the Izingane Zegazi. This is now our city. All who oppose us will be destroyed. All who are foolish enough to resist us will become our ghouls. You can hide under the sun during the day, but every night we will wreak terror upon this city that will make you wish for your precious Titan to awake once again. There is only one way you can stop this.”
The vampire spoke casually. As if it were human. But that only enhanced the menace. Every word dripped with something that made the primal side of me want to flee. To hide.
Perhaps the theories were right – that Ukwesaba could feed off terror itself.
“As the new rulers of your pathetic city, Kat Drummond and Guy Mgebe are now outlaws. For every night that they are at large, and for every night that, as a city, you allow them to escape our justice, we shall drain this city dry. Your children will die. Your homes will burn. And it will be the fault of your so-called heroes.”
As casually as one would open a can of soda, he slit the throat of the news anchor. She choked as blood pooled from her neck and mouth. She tried to gasp, but it came out as pained gurgles.
“No…” I whimpered; my eyes glued to Miriam. She stared back, as if looking at me. She looked defiant. There was no fear. No remorse. She nodded, once before a dagger carved its way across her throat. Miriam fell limp, without a struggle.
Ukwesaba looked back at the camera, right into my soul.
“The outlaws are located at Darkholme Terrace, nestled deep within the slums. Bring them alive or dead, and we shall spare you our reckoning.”
The broadcast ended, and the TV erupted into static.
Silence. And then the rumble of engines and shouting, as the city came for our heads.
Chapter 8. Persona Non Grata
I would have joked that I felt like Frankenstein’s Monster. But, there was a hollow feeling within me. Disbelieving. Empty. Stunned. I couldn’t bring myself to even speak.
“We have to get back to HQ!” Brett yelled, as we heard shouts from the floor below.
Miriam was dead. My men…dead. And Guy and me…we were the reason.
I felt both a ghostly and fleshy hand take me by the arms and pull me out of the blood soaked room. Everything felt hazy. Like a dream.
I hoped I would wake up soon.
Yells woke me from my stupor, as electric lights and the fiery glow of a flaming torch lit up the stairway. Angry faces yelled obscenities at us, punctuated by an order.
“Get them!”
These were humans. Desperate humans. I didn’t want to kill them. Brett and Krieg stepped in front of me, aiming their guns at the mob.
But I didn’t want anyone more to die…
Cindy leapt in front, letting out an arcane cry. The mob fell to the floor, screaming and clutching their eyes.
“They’re stunned. For now. Get to the van!”
Hapless arms grasped towards us as we rushed down the stairs. Krieg spat on one of them.
“Coward!”
Guy pushed him forward.
Thank Athena that the van was still in one piece! Brett was angry. I didn’t know what he’d do if the mob had destroyed his precious van.
We buckled up and Brett started the ignition, just as a fiery haze appeared down the street. Another mob! The men from within shambled out of the building. They pointed at us and began throwing rocks. A Molotov cocktail hit the windscreen, letting flames wash over the glass.
With a roar, the van started up. Thank Athena once again!
Brett reversed at full throttle, hi
tting something and then rushing forward towards the mob. He didn’t slow down. He sped up. I looked at my boyfriend’s face. I didn’t see any warmth there. No compassion. Just rage. Almost mechanical hatred.
The angry mob jumped out of the way, as we tore down the street.
“We need to get back into the city. Don’t worry about police,” Cindy said. “The Spirit of the Law will bind them from doing anything to us.”
The van swerved as something heavy hit it. A thud followed. And another. Gunfire! Where was Pranish when we needed a shield spell?
The enchanted hull of the van kept us safe, but every thud made me shudder. The Spirit of the Law may protect us from the police…but civilians were a different story.
Cindy’s cell rang as the thuds ended. We’d outdriven the shooters.
“Hello?” she answered.
She paled. Then nodded, even though the caller couldn’t see her. She hung up.
“What is it?” Guy asked.
“That was Duer…people are attacking the house.”
I felt a sting in my gut. Alex was at the house!
“They are fending them off with pixie magic. Apparently, Alex has already clawed out someone’s eye. They are fine, they say!”
Not that the pixies would ever admit or even acknowledge if they were losing!
Guy reached over and gripped Cindy’s hand. She was shivering, despite her optimistic words.
The van shook and I almost hit my chin on the dashboard as something collided into us.
“Fuckers!” Brett yelled, swerving towards the assailant.
I peered out the window, keeping my head low. The glass was enchanted, but best to be safe.
A bullet hit the window, sending spiderweb cracks across the surface. Brett turned hard, smashing into a car keeping pace with us. Bullets sprayed wide as he hit the gunmen.
Was every gangster in Hope City going to be coming after us?
The car kept pace, smashing into our wheels and keeping up fire. Brett glowed red with anger as his knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
We turned onto an on-ramp towards the highway, flying over the curb, and rushing into oncoming traffic. Cars hooted and flew out of the way as Brett sped between them. The car was no longer beside us but was still firing at our rear. Thud, thud, thud.
Children of Blood (Kat Drummond Book 13) Page 8
