F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 (67 page)

 
          
Did
he dare?

 
          
As
if Barrett were reading his mind, he moved into the patch of sunlight, pulling
Carole with him. Joe could barely look at them.

 
          
"No
funny stuff," Barrett said.

 
          
Joe
slumped. Now what?

 
          
"I
sense indecision," Barrett said. "Let me offer some incentive."
He held up the stiletto, twisting it back and forth to catch the light.
"Always wanted one of these, but they've been illegal for decades. Found
it in the house I'm occupying. Snap it open and you feel like a juvenile
delinquent from a bad fifties movie. But it's a good street-fighting knife.
Know why? This slim little blade doesn't get caught up in clothing.
Watch."

 
          
With
that he stabbed it into Carole's flank right below her ribs. Joe cried out as
he saw her stiffen in pain and try to pull away. But Barrett had her by the
neck.

 
          
"Don't
worry," he said. "The cut's only an inch or so deep. Nothing that'll
do serious damage. But it can cause a lot of pain." He angled the blade.
"Especially when I drag the point along a rib."

 
          
Carole
gasped as all the color drained from her face. Her knees buckled but Barrett
held her up.

 
          
"All
right!" Joe shouted. "All right! Just stop it! Please!"

 
          
Carole
was shaking her head. "No!" He could barely hear her voice. "You
can't!"

 
          
Barrett
jabbed her again and this time she screamed. The sound was like shards of glass
being driven through his brain. He wanted to cry.

 
          
"Carole,
he's got us. We've lost this round."

 
          
"Just
as you'll lose every round," Barrett said.

 
          
"I
can't let this happen, Joseph," she gasped.

 
          
What
was she saying? Thank God she couldn't get her hands into her pockets.

 
          
"It'll
be all right, Carole."

 
          
"Forgive
me, Joseph, forgive me, Lord. I love you both."

 
          
She
turned her head, lifted her left shoulder, and bit something there that looked
like a knotted thread.

 
          
What's
she doing?

 
          
"Yeah,
I know," Barrett said. "You love everyone. That's why you haven't a
prayer of winning."

 
          
Joe
saw a string clenched in Carole's teeth, saw her close her eyes and jerk her
head back.

 
          
"No!"

 
          
The
explosion hit him like a falling slab of concrete, knocking Franco into him and
sending them both flying. He lost his grip on Franco and slammed into the
marble wall behind them, then tumbled to the floor. For a moment he lay there
dazed, not sure of where he was, and then it came back to him.

 
          
"Carole!"

 
          
He
struggled to his feet and looked around. Red . . . everything, including Joe,
was splattered with red. The blast had shattered the observation windows and
now a small gale rushed through the atrium.

 
          
Where
was Carole? He staggered around, searching, but could find no recognizable
trace of her. There had to be something left, something more than the bits of
flesh clinging to the walls. Something glinted in a corner: a single bloody
handcuff.

 
          
Gone
. .. she was gone ... as if she'd never been.

 
          
Movement
caught his eye. The get-guards had been tossed around by the blast but were
recovering now. They were crawling back toward the stairwell, dragging Franco
with them, and licking the blood from

 
          
the
floor as they moved.

 
          
With
a cry of rage in a voice he didn't recognize, Joe lurched toward them. His
strength was leaking away like water down a drain. Had to do this while he
still was able.

 
          
He
grabbed Franco's ankle, ripped him free of the guards holding him, and dragged
him toward the light. No hesitations, last words, no taunts, just finish the
job he'd come here to do. He pulled Franco to his feet at the edge of the
sunlit patch and shoved him forward with everything he had.

 
          
Franco
must have been an old one because he burst into flame as soon as the light
touched his skin. His scream was musical, at least to Joe. He spun as his skin
charred to black and his eyes bubbled in his head, tried to lunge back to the
shadows but his legs wouldn't support him. He collapsed in a flaming heap. Joe
fell back against the nearest wall and slid to the floor, arms open wide to
embrace his oncoming death.

 
          
LACEY
. . .

 
          
Lacey
and Considine had reached the eightieth floor and were headed for the final
elevator bank when the building shook. Lacey saw glass and debris rain past the
windows.

 
          
A
sick certainty about what had just happened nearly drove Lacey to her knees.

 
          
"Oh,
no! Carole!"

 
          
"Your
friend?" Considine said. "What—?"

 
          
She
waved off his questions as she leaned against a wall and sobbed. Oh, Carole.
Did you have to? Did you really have to?

 
          
"Look,"
Considine said, "I know we decided to stay off the stairwell, but if
there's been an explosion up on the deck, these elevators won't be trustworthy.
We're going to have to take the stairs. You have a cross?"

 
          
Lacey
pulled one out of her pocket and handed it to him. "Here. But I've got a
feeling we're not going to need it."

 
          
He
led her to the stairwell where they were backed up by a blast of smoke when
they opened it. The air cleared quickly, however, propelled by the wind blowing
through the doorway. The lights were still on, and they hurried up the steps.

 
          
"What's
that stink?" Considine said.

 
          
"Dead
vampires. Lots of them."

 
          
"Why
should they be dead?"

 
          
Lacey
gave him a quick explanation of get-death.

 
          
"No
offense," he said, "but I'll believe that when I see it. Sounds too
much like wishful thinking."

 
          
"That's
how most people will react. Which is why we wanted to catch it on tape.

 
          
On
the eighty-fifth-floor landing they came upon the piled rotting corpses of
Franco's get.

 
          
"Believe
me now?"

 
          
"Jesus
Christ. It's true." He looked at her with wide eyes. "That
means..."

 
          
"Yeah,
that we're not beaten, that the living have still got a shot. But we have to
get those tapes to people who can use them."

 
          
She
led the way over the stinking cadavers, stepping around them when she could,
and on them when she couldn't. The door to the Observation Deck had been blown
off its hinges and the wind flowing through it carried most of the stink away.

 
          
Lacey
hesitated at the door, afraid to go any further, but forced herself through.
The carnage—the blood, the shattered marble, the stove-in elevator doors—stopped
her in her tracks.

 
          
"Jesus
God," Considine said behind her. "What happened here?"

 
          
Lacey
said nothing, but she knew ... she could see the scene play out in her brain .
.. Carole ran out of options and took Barrett with her.

 
          
In
the sunlight she saw a pile of charred, smoking, semi-molten flesh. That would
be Franco. But Joe .. . where was Joe?

 
          
"Uncle
Joe?" she called. "Uncle—?"

 
          
And
then she saw him, curled in the fetal position in a corner, face to the wall.
He wasn't moving.

 
          
"Uncle
Joe?" She hurried to him and turned him over. His eyes were closed and his
scarred face was twisted into a mask of pain. "Uncle Joe, are you all
right?"

 
          
He
opened his eyes and sobbed, "I was supposed to die, not her! But I'm still
here and she's not!"

 
          
Lacey
didn't understand and didn't try to. He was weak as a newborn. She cradled him
in her arms and they cried together. He had no tears but she had enough for
both of them. They fell on his face, wetting his cheeks.

 
          
Behind
them Lacey heard a clatter from the stairwell and recognized Leland's voice.
"What the hell happened here?"

 
          
"I'm
still trying to figure that out," Considine said. "Did you get it on
tape?"

 
          
"The
cameras here went dead but I switched to one of the deck cameras in time to
catch Franco's meltdown. Also caught his guards dying like poisoned rats on the
stairs. What happened to them?"

 
          
"Tell
you later. Can you believe it? They did it! They liberated the building!"

 
          
"I'd
say they damn near liberated the whole city."

 
          
"Hear
that, Unk?" Lacey whispered. "We did it, you and me and Carole. And
we can prove it."

 
          
Suddenly
Considine was hovering over them.

 
          
"I
just sent Leland downstairs. He's going to dupe the tape while Fowler finds a
car for you two. We're going to put you on the road with a copy, then we're
each going to get our families together and head west with our own copies. One
of us has to get through."

 
          
"I
don't think I can get downstairs," Joe said.

 
          
"You'll
get down," Considine said. "I'm going to check the elevator. If it
doesn't work, well, after what you just did, I'll carry you down on my back if
need be."

 
          
As
Considine moved away, Joe squeezed Lacey's arm.

 
          
"We
can't leave Carole."

 
          
"Carole
left us, Unk. And she didn't leave anything behind."

 
          
"Let
me die," he whispered. "I want an end to this."

 
          
"I
know you do, but—"

 
          
"I
was Franco's get. I was supposed to die with him."

 
          
So
that was the reason behind the "If anything happens to me" mantra ...
He was planning to go out with Franco.

 
          
"I
guess since you're not truly undead, you're not truly his get."

 
          
"But
I am. I have to die."

 
          
"No
way, Unk. You're going to see this through till the end. This is just a step,
but we're on our way. We're going to push these slime bags back into the sea.
And you and me, we're going to be there to see it."