The Night Eternal (44 page)

“We’ll work it out,” said Eph. “Now go. Before they try to scuttle them.”

Eph locked the door behind them, then turned back to Zack. He looked at his son’s face, seeking reassurance. “It’s okay, Z. We’re going to be okay. It’s going to be over soon.”

Zack blinked rapidly as he watched his father fold the map and stuff it into his coat pocket.

T
he
strigoi
came out of the darkness. Mr. Quinlan saw their heat impressions rushing through the trees and waited to intercept them. Dozens of vampires, with more following behind—perhaps hundreds. Gus came up firing down the dirt road at an unlit vehicle. Sparks popped off the hood and the windshield crackled, but the car kept coming. Gus stood in front of it until he was certain he had put a good kill pattern in the windshield, then jumped out of the way at what he thought was the last moment.

But the car turned his way as he went diving into the woods. A thick trunk stopped the vehicle with a ringing crash, though not before the front grille struck Gus’s legs and sent him flying into the trees. His left arm cracked like a tree branch, and when he got back to his feet he saw it hanging crookedly at his side—broken at the elbow, and maybe the shoulder too.

Gus swore through clenched teeth, the pain severe. Still, his combat instincts kicked in, and he made himself run to the car, expecting vamps to come spilling out like circus clowns.

Gus reached in with his good hand—the one holding his Steyr—and pulled back the driver’s head from the steering wheel. It was Creem, his head now lying back in the seat as though he were napping, except that he had taken two of Gus’s rounds in the forehead, one in the chest.

“Reverse Mozambique, motherfucker,” said Gus, and let the head go, its nose crunching softly against the steering wheel crossbar.

Gus saw no other occupants—though the rear door was strangely open.

The Master …

Mr. Quinlan had moved on in the blink of an eye, hunting his prey. Gus leaned a moment against the vehicle, beginning to gauge the gravity of his arm injury. It was then that he noticed a rivulet of blood oozing from Creem’s neck …

Not a bullet wound.

Creem’s eyes snapped open. He burst from the car, hurling himself toward Gus. The impact of Creem’s massive body knocked the air from Gus’s lungs, like a bull striking a matador, sending him sailing with almost as much force as the car had. Gus held on to his gun, but Creem’s hand closed around his entire forearm with incredible strength, crushing his tendons, forcing his fingers open. Creem’s knee was against Gus’s damaged left arm, grinding the broken bone like a mortar.

Gus screamed, both in rage and pain.

Creem’s eyes were wide open, looking crazed and slightly misaligned. His bling smile began to smoke and steam, his vampiric gums burning away from contact with the silver implants. The flesh burned away from his knuckles for the same reason. But Creem held on, puppeteered by the will of the Master. As Creem’s jaw opened and unhinged with a loud crack, Gus understood that the Master meant to take Gus and through him learn how to trump their plan. The grinding of his left arm drove Gus to howling distraction, but he could see Creem’s stinger budding in his mouth—oddly fascinating and slow—the reddened flesh parting, unfolding, revealing new layers as it awakened to its purpose.

Creem was being forced into overdrive transformation by the Master’s will. The stinger became engorged amid the clouds of silver vapor, getting ready to strike. Drool and residual blood spilled onto Gus’s chest as the demented being that once had been Creem reared its vampiric head.

In a final effort, Gus managed to twist his gun hand enough to aim loosely at Creem’s head. He fired once, twice, three times and, at such close range, each round ripped away huge amounts of flesh and bone from Creem’s face and neck.

Creem’s stinger darted wildly into the air, seeking contact with Gus. Gus kept firing, one round striking the stinger.
Strigoi
blood and worms flew everywhere, as Gus finally succeeded in shattering Creem’s vertebrae and severing his spinal cord.

Creem tipped over, slumping hard to the ground, twitching and steaming.

Gus rolled away from the energized blood worms. He felt an immediate sting in his leg, and quickly pulled up his left pant leg. He saw a worm sinking into his flesh. Instinctively, he reached for a sharp piece of the damaged automobile grille and dug into his leg. He sliced it open enough so that he could see the wriggling worm, rooting deeper and deeper. Gus grabbed the thing and yanked it out of his wound. The worm’s barbs grabbed hold, and it was
excruciating
—but he did it, dragging out the thin worm and pounding it into the ground, killing it.

Gus got to his feet, chest heaving, leg bleeding. He didn’t mind seeing his own blood, so long as it remained red. Mr. Quinlan returned and took in the entire scene, especially Creem’s steaming corpse.

Gus grinned. “See,
compa
? You can’t leave me alone for one fucking minute.”

T
he Born felt other interlopers advancing along the windy shoreline and pointed Fet in that direction. The first of the raiders advanced on the Born. They came hard, this first sacrificial wave, and Mr. Quinlan matched their viciousness. As he fought, he tracked three feelers to his right, clustered around a female vampire. One of the feelers broke off and engaged him, romping toward the Born on all fours. Mr. Quinlan knocked a two-legged vampire aside to deal with the nimble blind one. He swatted it away, the feeler tumbling backward before springing up again on all fours like an animal pushed off a potential meal. Two other vampires came at him, and Mr. Quinlan moved fast to avoid them, keeping an eye on the feeler.

A body came flying, launching off one of the storefront tables, landing on Mr. Quinlan’s back and shoulders with a high-pitched squeal. It was Kelly Goodweather, her right hand lashing out, raking the Born’s face. He howled and punched backward, and she slashed at him again, but he blocked it, grasping her wrist.

A burst from Gus’s machine gun sent her leaping off Mr. Quinlan’s shoulders. Mr. Quinlan anticipated another attack from the feeler, then saw it lying in the dirt, full of holes.

Mr. Quinlan touched his face. His hand came away sticky and white. He turned to go after Kelly, but she was nowhere to be seen.

G
lass shattered somewhere in the restaurant. Eph readied his silver sword. He moved Zack to the corner of the candy counter, keeping him out of harm’s way and yet basically trapped and unable to run. The bomb remained on the wall end of the counter, over Gus’s pack and the Born’s black leather satchel.

A nasty little feeler galloped in from the restaurant, followed by another on its heels. Eph held out his silver blade, letting the blind creatures sense it. A form appeared in the dim doorway behind them, barely a silhouette, dark as a panther.

Kelly.

She looked horribly decayed, her features barely recognizable even to her former husband. The royal red wattle of her neck swayed limply, under dead eyes black and red.

She was there for Zack. Eph knew what he had to do. There was only one way to break the spell. Committing to this made Eph’s sword tremble in his hands—but the vibration originated from the sword itself, not his nerves. As he held the blade before him, it seemed to be glowing faintly.

She walked toward him, flanked by the agitated feelers. Eph showed her his blade. He said, “This is the end, Kelly … and I am so sorry … so goddamn sorry …”

She had no eyes for Eph, only for Zack standing behind him. Her face was unable to register any emotion, but Eph understood the compulsion to have and to protect. He understood it keenly. His back spasmed and the pain became almost unbearable. But somehow he conquered it and held on.

Kelly focused on Eph. She made a motion with her hand, a flick forward, and the feelers rushed him like attack dogs. They came in a crisscross motion, and Eph had a split second to choose between them. He struck at one and missed but managed to kick the other one to the side. The one he missed came right back at him, and Eph caught her with his sword, but off balance and only with the flat of the blade against her head. She went rolling back, dazed and slow to rise.

Kelly leaped onto a table and sprang off it, attempting to jump past Eph to Zack. Eph moved right into her path, however, and they collided, Kelly spinning off to the side and Eph almost falling backward.

Eph saw the other feeler sizing him up from the side and readied his blade. Then Zack burst past him. Eph just barely caught the boy by the collar of his parka, yanking him back. Zack slipped out of the jacket but stayed put, standing just in front of his father.

“Stop it!” Zack said. He held one hand out to his mother and the other to Eph. “Don’t!”

“Zack!” yelled Eph. The boy was near enough to both of them that Eph feared he and Kelly would both grab a hand, resulting in a tug-of-war.

“Stop it!” yelled Zack. “Please! Please—don’t hurt her! She’s all I have … !”

And in saying so, it hit Eph. It was
he,
the absent father, who was the anomaly. He had
always
been the anomaly. Kelly’s posture relaxed a moment, her arms dropping down at her bare sides.

Zack said to her, “I’ll go with you. I want to go back.”

But then another force came into Kelly’s eyes, a monstrous, alien will. She sprang all at once, violently shoving Zack aside. Her jaw dropped and her stinger lashed out at Eph, who barely moved in time, watching the muscular appendage snap out into the space where his neck had just been. He swiped at her stinger, but he was off balance and missed.

The feelers pounced on Zack, holding him down. The boy was yelling. Kelly’s stinger retracted, the end tip lolling out of her mouth like a thin, bifurcated tongue. She threw herself at Eph, ducking her head and plowing into his midsection, driving him to the floor. He slid backward, coming to rest hard against the bottom of the counter.

He quickly struggled up to his knees, back in full spasm, his ribs immediately jabbing his chest, a few of them broken and driving into his lungs. This shortened his swing as he brought the sword across, trying to keep her back. Kelly kicked his arm, her bare foot catching him beneath the elbow, his fists slamming against the lower part of the counter. The sword broke free from his grip and clanged to the floor.

Eph looked up. There was a bright red glare in her eyes as Kelly rushed at him for the kill.

Eph reached down without looking and somehow the handle of the sword found his fingers. He got the blade up just as her jaw fell and she thrust forward.

The blade ran straight back through her throat. It came out the back end of her neck, cleaving the root mechanism of her stinger. Eph stared in horror as her stinger went limp, her gaze unbelieving. Her open mouth filled with wormy white blood, her body sagging against the silver sword.

For a moment—probably imagined by Eph, but he accepted it anyway—he saw the formerly human Kelly behind her eyes, looking at him with an expression of peace.

Then the creature returned and sagged in release.

Eph remained holding her up until her white blood ran almost down to his sword handle. Then, overcoming his shock, he pivoted and removed the blade, and Kelly’s body lay upon the floor.

Zack was screaming now. He rose up in a fit of strength and rage, throwing off the feelers. The blind vampire children went wild themselves and ran at Eph. He swung his slickened blade diagonally upward, easily slaying the first one. That made the second jump back. Eph watched as it retreated, loping out of the room with its head turned almost fully over its shoulder, watching Eph until it was gone.

Eph lowered his sword. Zack stood over the remains of his vampire mother, crying and gasping. Zack looked at his father with a look of anguished disgust.

“You killed her,” said Zack.

“I killed the vampire that had taken her away from us. Away from you.”

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

In his fury, Zack found a long-handled flashlight on the countertop and grabbed it, going after his father. Eph blocked the strike to his head, but the boy’s forward momentum carried him into Eph and he fell on top of him, pressing against Eph’s broken ribs. The boy was surprisingly strong, and Eph was in agony. Zack hammered away at Eph, Eph blocking the blows with his forearm. The boy lost the flashlight but kept fighting, his fists striking Eph’s chest, hands reaching inside Eph’s coat. Finally Eph dropped his sword in order to grip the boy’s wrists and hold him off.

Eph saw, crumpled in the boy’s left fist, a piece of paper. Zack saw that Eph had noticed and fought his father’s attempts to pry open his fingers.

Eph pulled out the crumpled paper map. Zack had tried to take it from him. He stared into his son’s eyes and saw the presence. He saw the Master seeing through Zack.

“No,” said Eph. “No—please. No!”

Eph pushed the boy away. He was sickened. He looked at the map, then slipped it back into his pocket. Zack stood, backpedaling. Eph saw that the boy was about to take a run at the nuke. At the detonator.

The Born was there, Mr. Quinlan intercepting the boy and swallowing him up in a bear hug, spinning him away. The Born had a diagonal scrape across his face, from his left eye to his right cheek. Eph got to his feet, the ripping pain in his chest nothing compared to the loss of Zack.

Eph picked up his sword and went to Zack, still held by the Born. Zack was grimacing and nodding his head rhythmically. Eph held the silver blade near his son, watching for a response.

The silver did not repel him. The Master was in his mind but not his body.

“This isn’t you,” said Eph, speaking to Zack and also convincing himself. “You’re going to be okay. I have to get you out of here.”

We must hurry.

Eph grabbed Zack from him. “Let’s go to the boats.”

The Born lifted his leather pack to his shoulder, then gripped the straps of the bomb, pulling it off the counter. Eph grabbed the pack at his feet and pushed Zack toward the door.